Laryngitis
by rbnnybt
Summary: Starring Reid and the BAU, and featuring Master Mersenne, Master Dante, Sci-Fi Grand Master Asimov, the Dungeon Master, Professor Jacqueline von Ripper, and Haley's Comet.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own Criminal Minds.

Author's Note: 6 chapters total. Each of chapters 2-6 will contain 1 revenge scenario.

* * *

Chapter 1

On Monday, Dr. Spencer Reid gave a lecture to the advanced criminology class at Streyer University. He plastered the lecture hall with statistics until they dripped, like blood in a horror movie, down the white-washed walls. The students covered their ears and rocked back and forth in their chairs. The professor listened with mute adoration etched upon every delicate facial feature. At the end of the lecture, after the students had rushed out the doors, the professor handed Dr. Reid her business card containing her credentials, cell phone number, home phone number, personal email address, home address, and a non-creepy smiley face drawn in silver ink. Dr. Reid smiled bashfully all the way back to Quantico.

On Tuesday, Dr. Spencer Reid woke up with a severe sore throat caused by inflammation of the vocal cords. Having memorized the 1500-page "Mayo Clinic Family Health Book" at the age of eleven, Dr. Reid immediately diagnosed his condition as laryngitis. He diagnosed the cause as well.

In his case, the cause was not viral, bacterial, or fungal infection. Nor was it excessive smoking or alcohol consumption. Nor was it any type of allergy that he did not have. In the case of Dr. Spencer Reid, laryngitis had resulted from high-impact stress to the vocal cords caused by loud, frequent, and high-pitched voicing at the criminology lecture on Monday.

Dr. Reid performed his morning rituals dejectedly. He had wanted to call the delightfully beautifully intelligently superbishly awesomest Professor Jacqueline von Ripper, but the laryngitis had thrown a wrench into his romantic pursuits.

* * *

"Hey Reid!" Morgan sank into his chair on his arrival in the bullpen. "I have a problem, and I need your help immediately! My sister, Sarah, the one in grad school, has a complicated math problem that she can't figure out. It's due this afternoon. Can you help her work it out over the phone?"

Reid pointed at his throat and shook his head. He moved his hand across his neck in the "I'm cutting my head off" gesture.

"You can't talk, Reid?" Morgan asked. "Oh man, Sarah's going to be so disappointed. She really wanted someone...you, specifically...to explain Mersenne primes to her. She mentioned something about Fermat's Last Theorem too. I think it's got something to do with Mersenne primes."

Reid waved both of his hands back and forth in the "No, no, no, you've got it all wrong" gesture. He took out a small whiteboard and scribbled something on it.

"Laryngitis," Morgan read the first line.

"Wish I could help, but I can't," he read the second line.

"Really wish I could help," he read the third line, "Sad face," he translated the emoticon.

"It's Fermat's Little Theorem, not Fermat's Last Theorem, that's got something to do with Mersenne primes," Morgan read the last line, where Reid tapped his marker in dramatic emphasis.

"Well, I'll just call Sarah and let her know that you're sick," Morgan said. "Thanks anyway, Reid. Hope that laryngitis gets better soon," he walked off towards the elevator with his cell phone.

Reid dropped his sad puppy dog eyes into his lap, disappointed that he had lost the opportunity to expound at length upon one of his favorite topics to a willing listener.

* * *

"Hey Reid!" Prentiss tapped him on the shoulder as he stared at his computer screen. "I have a problem, and I need your help immediately! My mother and I had an intellectual discussion about 'The Divine Comedy' over dinner last night. She had recently read some literary crapfest about the scientific themes in the 'Inferno', 'Purgatorio', and 'Paradiso'. I told her that you were both a scientist and an expert in medieval literature, so she wants to hear your opinion about the matter. Would you be willing to call her this afternoon to discuss it with her? She's got meetings with egotistical old men...I mean...congressmen...all morning."

Reid grabbed his whiteboard from the floor and pointed at the first line.

"Oh, poor you," Prentiss said sympathetically. "Laryngitis? How bad is it?"

"Baaaaaaad..." Reid mouthed.

"Well, I hope it gets better soon," Prentiss said on her way out of the bullpen. "Thanks anyway, I'll tell my mother," she walked off towards the kitchen with her cell phone.

Reid pushed his knees up against his chest and rested his chin upon their knobby surface. As Prentiss called her mother and made herself a cup of coffee, he followed her movements with his sad puppy dog eyes. Of all the people in the BAU, Prentiss and Garcia were the ones most likely to geek out with him, but even they had never introduced new geeking partners to him before. It was another tantalizing opportunity flushed down the drain of laryngitis.

* * *

"Reid!" Rossi woke him up from his lunch-hour cat-nap. "I'm so glad you're here! I was afraid that you had gone out for lunch with Morgan and Prentiss. Listen, I need to discuss something with you. Remember when I threatened to slap you every time you mentioned 'Foundation' in front of me? Remember when I threatened to push you out of a moving vehicle if you dared play Peter Coyote's recording of 'Foundation'?"

Reid nodded hesitantly, not knowing where this could possibly be going.

"I read 'Foundation' over the weekend!" Rossi exclaimed. "I read the entire series - the trilogy and all the books after it and all the prequels to it that Asimov wrote later. I was so hooked! I've never been so hooked on anything in my life before! Not even my ex-wives when they were married to me!"

Reid nodded hesitantly again, beginning to see where this was possibly going.

"After I finished 'Foundation', I read Asimov's 'Robot' and 'Empire' series too," Rossi declared. "Those books are so good! Asimov is such a genius! I really want to discuss the books with you over lunch. How about I take you out to that Indian place you like, my treat, and we fanboy over Asimov for a couple of hours? It's a slow day. I'm sure no one will miss us."

Reid showed Rossi the whiteboard.

"Oh, tough luck," said Rossi. "Another day then...We'll have lunch another day..." he walked off towards his office.

Reid rested his arms on his desk and buried his face in them. He blinked his sad puppy dog eyes and whimpered at another opportunity denied.

* * *

"Hey Spence!" JJ ruffled his hair as she waltzed by. "I was hoping that you could do me a favor! Will and I are learning to play Dungeons & Dragons together, but we don't really know what we're doing. We're looking for a Dungeon Master, so we're wondering if you could come over for dinner tonight and play with us? How about a home-cooked meal at my house? It's got to be better than Ramen topped with sugar. How about it, Dungeon Master?"

Reid glanced down at the whiteboard in his lap. He turned it around so she could read the words.

"Awwwwwww, I'm sorry," said JJ, ruffling his hair again. "I hope you get better soon. Don't forget to go to the doctor if it lasts more than a couple of days. We can hold off on Dungeons & Dragons for another day," she waltzed away with her stack of folders.

Reid banged his head against his desk in frustration. He rubbed his fingers over his sad puppy dog eyes and sighed unhappily.

Then, he had an idea. He opened up his personal Gmail account and composed a message to one of his old friends at Caltech. Pierre was now a recently tenured professor in the geology department, so Reid was sure that Pierre would have plenty of time to read his 10,000-word email. In it, he discussed the latest scientific literature about the San Andreas and Garlock faults that constantly threatened to rip California apart. Then, he asked Pierre if the lengths of the faults followed a pattern of Mersenne primes. Then, he asked Pierre where the circles of Hell from the 'Inferno' might be located within the structure of the Earth. Then, he asked Pierre if there might be 20,000-year-old robots, like Asimov's R. Daneel Olivaw, watching over the Earth and whether they would allow humanity to destroy itself through manmade ecological disasters. He reminded Pierre about the Zeroth Law of Robotics which said, "A robot may not harm humanity, or through inaction, allow humanity to come to harm." Finally, he asked Pierre if he and his grad students would be interested in a game of remote Dungeons & Dragons. He begged to be the Dungeon Master. In exchange, he would turn a blind eye for up to three federal offenses committed by Pierre, Pierre's immediate family and friends, or Pierre's lab group.

Reid sighed as he pressed "Send". He shook the carpal tunnel out of his wrists and stretched contentedly. It felt good to indulge in some kind of release from his laryngitis-imposed prison.

* * *

"Reid!" Hotch stopped by his desk on the way out of the office. "Jack wanted me to ask you for a huge favor. It was his birthday last week, and I bought him a six-inch reflector telescope. He's beginning to develop nerdy tendencies. His latest fad is astronomy. I don't know anything about telescopes, but I told him that you were an expert on everything. He wants me to invite you over, preferably tonight, to give him his first stargazing lesson."

Reid held his whiteboard over his face.

"Oh...Don't worry about it, Reid," Hotch said understandingly. "I'll explain to Jack that you're sick this week. Would you be willing to come over some other night, when the skies are clear?"

Reid nodded eagerly.

"Which night?" he mouthed.

"I'm not sure," Hotch shrugged. "I'll ask Jack and get back to you on that. Next time, I'll ask you ahead of time. Of course, there's still the problem of the skies. We can set up all the play-dates we want, but the skies might not cooperate."

Reid nodded knowingly.

"See you tomorrow then," Hotch said. "You might want to get that laryngitis looked at. It's a slow week, so don't bother coming in if it gets any worse," he walked off towards the elevator with his briefcase.

Reid cracked his whiteboard over his head in the deserted bullpen. He checked his email, hoping to receive a 10,000-word reply from Pierre. Nothing.

He got up slowly, slung his messenger bag over his shoulders, and ambled towards the elevator, his sad puppy dog eyes wandering around the floor the entire way.

As he neared the elevator, he heard familiar voices emanating from a nook in the wall next to the restrooms.

"Can you believe that Reid thought my sister wanted to hear about Mersenne primes?" Morgan snickered. "He was so excited that someone wanted to talk about math with him!"

"You should've seen the look on his face when I asked him to call my mother about 'The Divine Comedy'!" Prentiss laughed. "It was like he had found a new best friend!"

"I swear that I heard him whimpering into his arms after I offered to fanboy the complete works of Isaac Asimov with him!" Rossi cackled.

"He wanted to teach me Dungeons & Dragons! He thought that Will and I wanted to play Dungeons & Dragons at home!" JJ giggled. "Poor Spence...missing out on a chance to be the Dungeon Master must be hard for him."

"Jack's birthday isn't coming up for months, and Jack isn't much of a nerd," Hotch said seriously. "I really shouldn't have joined in on this. I'm the Unit Chief. I shouldn't be torturing one of my subordinates."

"Oh, it's OK, Hotch, you did the right thing," said a chorus of voices from the nook.

The voices became louder as their owners tried to exit the nook. Reid didn't understand how the tiny phone-booth-sized nook could hold five people at the same time. He wasn't in the mood to dissect the matter. His sad puppy dog eyes had morphed into angry puppy dog eyes, and his mind cried out for retribution.

But he was not yet ready to confront his teammates. In order to avoid them on his way out of the office, he little-girl-ran through the open doorway of the nearest elevator and crashed into a cart loaded with electronic equipment.

"Hey Reid!" Garcia chirped. "Paws off my babies! You'll smudge them!" she pointed at a bevy of LCD monitors on her cart.

"Sorry," Reid mouthed.

"Laryngitis" he mouthed as explanation for his mouthing.

"Awwwwwww! Poor baby!" Garcia coddled him. "Let me kiss that booboo away for you!" she tossed her head back and forth while smacking her lips against invisible booboos in the air.

"Revenge!" Reid mouthed.

"Revenge?" Garcia asked. "Against who? For what?"

"Team!" Reid pointed towards the bullpen.

"Team?" Garcia asked. "What did they do to you? I've been at a stupid 'Ethics in Technology' seminar all day. Strauss made me take it to learn about the intra-bureau hacking ban," she rolled her eyes.

"Team! Revenge!" Reid made his "I'm cutting my head off" gesture. This time, what he meant to say was, "I'm going to cut their heads off."

"You got it!" Garcia chirped on her way out of the elevator. "Pranking Queen Penelope Garcia at your service! No questions asked!"

Reid smiled widely and waved at Garcia before closing the elevator doors. His puppy dog eyes took on an initial glint of evil, then another and another and another, until they were nothing but veritable pools of puppyish world-dismantling evil. They did not even revert to their default puppy dog setting when Professor Jacqueline von Ripper called from the hot tub in her office.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I do not own Criminal Minds.

* * *

Chapter 2

Before commencing his campaign of retribution, Reid considered Confucius. Confucius had once said, "Before you embark on a journey of revenge, dig two graves."

Reid made fake farting noises through his lips and pushed the annoying old sage out the window. Once Confucius had disappeared over the side of the balcony, Reid considered Machiavelli. Machiavelli had once said, "It is better to be feared than loved, if you cannot be both."

Reid nodded in agreement and patted Machiavelli on the head. Machiavelli, offended at such loving treatment, jumped out the window and threw himself over the side of the balcony. Reid turned to Garcia in the dark attic lair of his new apartment.

"Your new apartment is so cool!" Garcia gazed in awe. "You've got an attic and a balcony and two turrets and three fireplaces!"

"Yes, yes," the newly evil Reid dismissed her sycophantic words. "But let's get on with the campaign, shall we?"

"Yes, Master," Garcia rolled her eyes.

She was still adjusting to the newly evil Reid. The newly evil Reid resembled one of the sociopathic psychopathic UnSubs that the BAU dealt with on a daily basis. The newly evil Reid had moved out of his old apartment to avoid the consequences of his campaign. He had failed to report his new address to his employer, but there was a grace period for that sort of thing. Within the grace period, the UnSub planned to commit a series of heinous crimes against his unsuspecting victims.

"I want to infiltrate and destruct every aspect of their lives," Reid said from the bank of computer monitors that Garcia had set up for him. The computers made up the control station for the crimes. What was a dark attic lair without a fancy high-tech control station?

"I don't think that 'destruct' is a real word," Garcia corrected Reid.

"Pssssssshhhhhhh," the evil Reid blew off her criticism.

"And don't you think that you're overreacting a little?" Garcia asked. "I thought we were just going to play a few tricks on them at work, not 'infiltrate and destruct every aspect of their lives'."

"Mmmmmmm-Hrrrrrrrh!" the evil Reid vocalized in a strangled manner, frustrated at Garcia's paltry resolve.

"OK, OK, down, Tiger," Garcia soothed the creature. "Have you got a plan yet? How may I assist you?"

"Oh yes, Jane, I've got a plan alright..."

"Excuse me, did you just call me 'Jane'?" Garcia asked.

"Yes, Jane, that's your operation codename, Jane," Reid replied while Garcia tested the name. She found it to her liking, but a new question popped into her mind.

"What's your operation codename?" she asked.

"For Stage One, you may call me Master Mersenne," Reid smirked evilly. "Our first target is Derek Morgan. I've already worked out the basics of the plot, but I need your help with some of the technical details..."

"Muahahahahahahaha!" Jane laughed evilly as she looked over the back-of-the-envelope outline.

* * *

On Saturday, Derek Morgan made the mistake of leaving his home for more than a few minutes. On Sunday, he paid the price for his mistake.

At 10:00 AM, Morgan opened his eyes and greeted the sunny mid-morning. He jumped out of bed, feeling a little guilty for sleeping in so late, but feeling rejuvenated after making up the missing sleep that he had accumulated during the work week. He padded into the adjoining bathroom and performed his morning rituals without incident. He had blueberry pancakes and scrambled eggs for breakfast and went to the bathroom again before his planned visit to the gym. That was when his troubles began.

While Morgan...um...peed into it, the toilet flushed itself in mid-stream. The laws of fluid dynamics dictated that some of the water in the toilet would spray upwards and stain the legs of Morgan's pants. The laws of polite society dictated that Morgan would change his diluted-urine-laced pants before going to the gym.

Morgan would have gladly succumbed to social conformity if the toilet had not flushed itself again before he had finised urinating. During the process, it flushed itself twice. Soon after the process was over, it flushed itself again, then a fourth time approximately two minutes after the third flush.

Morgan frowned with worry. He didn't want to leave his apartment to the mercies of a malfunctioning toilet, but he didn't want to spend his Sunday fixing a toilet either. He decided to give it a quick look. Maybe there was something wrong with the flushing mechanism in the tank.

With a disgusted scowl, Morgan dipped his fingers into the toilet tank and tested the connections between the various parts of the flushing mechanism. He found nothing out of the ordinary, until the rubber flush valve at the bottom of the tank gave a mighty heave and burst open.

Normally, the flush valve would let water out of the tank whenever the toilet was flushed. Today, the normal course of events had been reversed, and the flush valve opened to send a splash of pressurized toilet water onto Derek Morgan's face.

"Blerhhhhhhh!" Morgan sputtered angrily.

He quickly backed away from the toilet and turned on the faucet to wash off the toilet water. For some reason, the faucet began to malfunction as well. At first, when he flipped the handle, the water wouldn't run. Then, after a few seconds, the water spurted out at high pressure, but as soon as he put his hands under it, the water stopped again. He kept flipping the handle with the same result. Eventually, he gave up and left the handle in the "On" position. This caused water to spurt out for ever longer intervals with ever longer intervals between the spurts. After the longest two-minute interval, the whole cycle repeated itself, over and over and over again. The same state of affairs awaited Morgan at the kitchen sink. All of the plumbing appliances that he usually took for granted had developed minds of their own. Morgan was still covered with toilet water as he tested the toilet with a final flush.

"Derek Morgan!" a voice demanded near the toilet.

"What the hell?" Morgan turned every which way in the bathroom.

"Do not flush me again!" the voice ordered, "I flush myself!"

Morgan stared speechlessly at the suddenly sentient toilet.

"As punishment for you prior violations..." the toilet spun the water in its bowl and splashed up a large portion of it to hit Morgan in the face.

"Damn it! Stop that!" Morgan screamed at the toilet, without stopping to wonder why he was screaming at a toilet.

"We're sorry, sir, but the system cannot process your request," said a smooth female voice from the ceiling. "Please re-formulate your request in a Mersenne prime number of syllables."

"What? Who are you?" Morgan demanded. "What system? What are you talking about?"

"The new Omniscient Plumber 3000," said the female voice. "My name is Jane. Pleased to meet you, sir."

"Jane, Jane, Jane, Jane, Jane, Jane, Jane!" the toilet screeched and spun the water in its bowl again.

Morgan backed up against the opposite wall to avoid another face-ful of water. He whipped his head around in all directions to look for the sources of the voices. He much preferred the calm female voice to the taunting toilet voice. The toilet sounded like a deranged Leprechaun.

"Thank you, Master Mersenne," Jane addressed the toilet, "That is a Mersenne prime number of syllables."

"Whee, whee, whee!" Master Mersenne rumbled deep within its pipes and launched a huge wave of toilet water into the small bathroom. It covered every surface in the bathroom, including the entire body of Derek Morgan as he huddled in a corner of the bathtub.

"Thank you, Master Mersenne," Jane said, "That is a Mersenne prime number of syllables. I have sent in 31 volumes of water, just as you requested, Master Mersenne."

"More, more, more, more, more, more, more!" the toilet demanded in its grating Leprechaun voice. Morgan wanted to choke it if he could just figure out how to choke a toilet, but he had only three seconds to cover his mouth before a tsunami of water erupted from the toilet bowl.

"Thank you, Master Mersenne," Jane said, "That is a Mersenne prime number of syllables. I have sent in 127 volumes of water, just as you requested, Master Mersenne."

"Master Mersenne? What the hell is going on here?" Morgan half-screamed half-whimpered to himself. He tried to recall where he had heard the familiar name before. His eyes widened in horror as he connected the familiar name with a familiar face.

"Reid! Are you the one doing this? Where are you? Stop it! Now!" Morgan yelled.

"We're sorry, sir, but the system cannot process your request," Jane said, "That is not a Mersenne prime number of syllables."

The shower turned itself on and sent a stream of yellowish-brown liquid gushing onto the agent. Morgan screamed like a little girl, covered his head, and flailed his way out of the bathtub.

"Reid! Stop it!" he ordered.

"Thank you, sir," Jane said. "That is a Mersenne prime number of syllables. However, my name is not Reid. My name is Jane. Say it!" the voice became shrill. "Say my name!"

"What? What's going on here?" Morgan wiped at the gooey yellowish-brown liquid coating his head and shoulders. He wondered what it was, but decided that some things were better left unknown.

"We're sorry, sir, but the system cannot process your request," Jane said, "That is not a Mersenne prime number of syllables. Say my name!" she demanded in an increasingly shrill voice.

"Jane, Jane, Jane!" Morgan responded in panic.

"Thank you, sir," Jane said. "That is a Mersenne prime number of syllables."

The shower shut itself off, leaving a puddle of mysterious fluid in the bottom of the bathtub. The faucet turned itself on and began washing the puddle down the drain. Morgan sighed in relief. He could not form a single coherent thought in his head, not even a thought about getting back at Reid for this atrocity.

"You seem upset, sir," said Jane. "Let me explain the Omniscient Plumber 3000. The Omniscient Plumber 3000 operates according to the beautiful patterns of mathematics. The facilities work according to the rules of Mersenne primes. Would you like to demonstrate, Master Mersenne?"

"Yes, yes, yes!" Master Mersenne screeched.

"Thank you, Master Mersenne," Jane said, "That is a Mersenne prime number of syllables. Commence demonstration sequence..."

"Whee, whee, whee!" Master Mersenne whee-ed 3 times. The toilet flushed itself 3 seconds later.

"Whee, whee, whee, whee, whee, whee, whee!" Master Mersenne whee-ed 7 times. The toilet flushed itself 7 seconds later.

"Whee, whee, whee...whee, whee, whee, whee, whee, whee, whee!" Master Mersenne whee-ed 31 times. The toilet flushed itself 31 seconds later.

"Whee, whee, whee...whee, whee, whee, whee, whee, whee, whee!" Master Mersenne whee-ed 127 times. The toilet flushed itself 127 seconds, or approximately two minutes, later.

Morgan banged his head against the opposite wall and wished that he were dead.

"Thank you, Master Mersenne," Jane said, "That is a Mersenne prime number of syllables."

"You seem upset, sir," said Jane. "Are you not satisfied with the Omniscient Plumber 3000? The system is happy to receive all reviews, as long as they contain a Mersenne prime number of syllables."

"Yes, upset! De-activate!" Morgan replied carefully.

"Thank you, sir," Jane said. "That is a Mersenne prime number of syllables. In order to de-activate the Omniscient Plumber 3000, you must enter a code," the medicine cabinet flew open, revealing a small keypad that slid out of the wall.

"Code? What code?" Morgan asked carefully.

"Thank you, sir," Jane said. "That is a Mersenne prime number of syllables. You must enter a code made up of the first four Mersenne primes, followed by the first four double Mersenne primes."

"I don't know what Mersenne primes are!" Morgan screeched. He clapped his hands over his mouth immediately, realizing that he had not spoken a Mersenne prime number of syllables.

"We're sorry, sir, but the system cannot process your request," Jane said, "That is not a Mersenne prime number of syllables. Master Mersenne?"

"Goggle goggle whee whee whee!" Master Mersenne sprayed up some of the gooey yellowish-brown liquid from the shower. A blob landed on top of Morgan's head and rolled down the back of his neck with very high viscosity.

"Mersenne primes! How to make them?" Morgan phrased his words carefully.

"Thank you, sir," Jane said. "That is a Mersenne prime number of syllables. A Mersenne prime is made by using the formula 2 to the power p minus 1, where p is a prime number. For example, 2 to the power 2 is 4. 4 minus 1 is 3. The exponent 2 is prime, and so is the result 3, a Mersenne prime."

"3 is prime! 2 to the power 3 minus 1 is 7! 7 is prime! Whee, whee, whee..." Master Mersenne made up the difference between meaningful speech and 31 syllables with the mono-syllabic "whee".

"Thank you, Master Mersenne," Jane said, "That is a Mersenne prime number of syllables."

Morgan leaned against the door and lowered himself slowly to the floor. He now wished to choke Jane as much as he wished to choke Master Mersenne, but he still hadn't figured out a way to choke either the disembodied voice or the gleefully malfunctioning toilet. He decided that his top priority was getting rid of the Omniscient Plumber 3000.

"How do I make a double Mersenne prime?" Morgan asked Jane. "Whee, whee, whee..." he compensated with additional syllables.

"Thank you, sir," Jane said. "That is a Mersenne prime number of syllables. To make a double Mersenne prime, you must use a Mersenne prime as the exponent in the formula. For example, 3 is a Mersenne prime. 2 to the power 3 minus 1 is 7. 7 is a double Mersenne prime. 2 to the power 7 minus 1 is 127. 127 is a double Mersenne prime. There are only four known double Mersenne primes. You need to plug in 31 and 127 as the exponents to calculate the remaining two numbers."

"OK, OK," Morgan psyched himself up. "I can do this! I already know the first four Mersenne primes - 3, 7, 31, and 127. I already know the first two double Mersenne primes - 7 and 127. Just two more numbers to calculate. It can't be that hard."

He stopped, his eyes frozen in fear, as he realized that he had forgotten to count the syllables. He expected the system to punish him, but nothing happened. Even Master Mersenne was silent. Morgan reasoned that the number of syllables only mattered when he spoke to the system, not when he spoke to himself. He shook his head to clear it and settled down to calculate the remaining numbers.

In three minutes, he had the third double Mersenne prime ready to go - 2,147,483,647. He set the slip of toilet paper on the floor and considered the final double Mersenne prime - 2 to the power 127 minus 1.

"Crap, crap, crap!" he muttered to himself in a Mersenne prime number of syllables.

After a Mersenne prime number of minutes of number-crunching, Morgan came up with an answer. He wasn't sure if it was the right answer, because he wasn't sure if he had screwed up the calculation at any step along the way. When multiplying 2 by itself 127 times, a mistake at one step was sure to be fatal.

"I am ready, Jane. Whee, whee," Morgan said to the long silent voice.

"Thank you, sir," Jane said. "That is a Mersenne prime number of syllables. Please enter the numbers into the keypad."

Morgan entered the numbers carefully, first the Mersenne primes in order, then the double Mersenne primes in order. The final double Mersenne prime was 39 digits long.

"We're sorry, sir, but the system cannot process your request," Jane said, "The code is incorrect."

"What? Which part?" Morgan asked.

"Thank you, sir," Jane said. "That is a Mersenne prime number of syllables. The final part of the code is incorrect. Please enter the code again at your convenience."

"Whee, whee, whee..." Master Mersenne screeched 127 times.

Morgan crawled into the space under the sink and buried his head in his arms. He pulled his legs up to his chin and rocked back and forth. He was on the verge of tears.

"Get a hold of yourself, Derek," he psyched himself up again. He grabbed another roll of toilet paper, clicked his pen, and set to work again.

After a Mersenne prime number of minutes of number-crunching, Morgan came up with a new answer. He got up to punch it into the keypad.

"Thank you, sir," Jane said. "That is the final double Mersenne prime. However, the system has made upgrades and cannot process your request. The system only understands binary numbers. Please convert the numbers to their binary equivalents and enter them again."

"Beep, whee, beep, whee, beep, whee, beep!" Master Merseene vocalized in a binary manner.

Morgan let the tears of frustration roll down his finely-sculpted cheeks. He wiped them away with a piece of toilet paper and blew his nose mournfully. He checked his watch. It was 4:00 PM. He had spent four hours trapped in this Godforsaken bathroom with Jane, Master Mersenne, and the Omniscient Plumber 3000. He finally understood what it was like to be kidnapped and tortured by a psychotic UnSub.

After a Mersenne prime number of minutes of feeling sorry for himself, Morgan grabbed another roll of toilet paper and began converting each Mersenne prime into its binary equivalent. To his delight, he found that binary conversion turned ugly decimal numbers into beautiful binary numbers. 3 became 11, 7 became 111, 31 became 11111, 127 became 1111111, and 2147483647 became . The final number, , became . It was far easier than he had imagined.

"I am ready, Jane," Morgan declared with confidence. "Whee, whee!"

He punched the digits slowly into the keypad.

"Thank you, sir," Jane said. "That is a Mersenne prime number of syllables. That is the correct binary code. However, the system has upgraded to hexadecimal and cannot process your request. Please convert the numbers to their hexadecimal equivalents and enter them again."

"Mmmmmmm-Hrrrrrrrh!" Morgan vocalized in a frustrated laryngitic manner.

He retreated into his nook under the sink and proceeded to convert the binary numbers into hexadecimal numbers. To his surprise, he found the conversion exceedingly simple. All he had to do was substitute an F for each group of 1111. For example, for 1111111, there was only one group of 1111, so that became an F, starting from the right side. The remaining 111 was the binary equivalent of 7, which was the same in decimal and hexadecimal. The double Mersenne prime 127 was 1111111 in binary and 7F in hexadecimal. Even the final double Mersenne prime was easy to calculate. Morgan simply converted the long string of 1's to .

"I am ready, Jane," Morgan declared again, hoping that the system had not made any new upgrades. "Whee, whee!"

"Thank you, sir," Jane said. "That is a Mersenne prime number of syllables. That is the correct hexadecimal code. The system will now disengage. It shall leave the hardware and software in place, should you wish to re-engage with us at a later time. It has been a pleasure working for you, sir. Can you do one more thing for me, sir?"

"Yes, Jane? Whee?" Morgan asked.

"Say my name!" the voice demanded.

"Jane, Jane, Jane!" Morgan shouted 3 times.

"Jane, Jane, Jane, Jane, Jane, Jane, Jane!" Morgan shouted 7 times.

"Jane, Jane, Jane...Jane, Jane, Jane, Jane, Jane, Jane, Jane!" Morgan shouted 31 times.

"Jane, Jane, Jane...Jane, Jane, Jane, Jane, Jane, Jane, Jane!" Morgan shouted 127 times.

During the last cycle, he was joined by Master Mersenne, who shouted, "Whee, whee, whee...whee, whee, whee, whee, whee, whee, whee!"

All was silent. Morgan was hoarse from all the shouting. He was bound to wake up with a case of laryngitis tomorrow.

With trepidation, he turned on the faucet in the sink. The water flowed out normally. He tried the faucet of the bathtub. It worked fine. He tried the shower. It also worked.

Finally, Morgan approached the toilet. He flushed it, and the water spun down the bowl towards the Potomac. No voices emanated from the toilet or the ceiling.

Morgan exited the soaking wet bathroom and sank into a corner of his bedroom. He cowered in a bundle of blankets and made a promise to himself.

Henceforth, he would never make fun of Reid again. He would treat Reid with all the respect and dignity befitting a sociopathic psychopathic super-genius. He would ruffle Reid's hair with velvet gloves and lower his gaze in Reid's presence. He would shower Reid with gifts of candy and caffeine every Friday. In exchange, Reid would never activate the Omniscient Plumber 3000 again. Morgan feared to discover what new upgrades it would make in the future. Morgan feared the Omniscient Plumber 3000. He feared it, and he feared Jane, and he feared Master Mersenne. Most of all, Morgan feared the alter ego of Master Mersenne.

"I fear you, Master Mersenne," Morgan said.

"I love you, Master Mersenne," Morgan said again.

"I love and fear you, Master," Morgan said a third time.

"Thank you, Morgan," said Reid in his dark attic lair, "That is a Mersenne prime number of syllables."

He smiled, revealing two rows of gleaming white teeth. He had achieved what Machiavelli deemed impossible. He was both loved and feared. He turned to his accomplice, Jane, who returned his gleaming white smile.

"I love and fear you, Master," said the poor brain-washed accomplice.

* * *

LOL, I just realized that FF cannot process the final double Mersenne number!

Next up: Emily Prentiss, Master Dante, and the Inferno


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I do not own Criminal Minds.

Thanks to all readers and reviewers for indulging my absolute insanity! There are so many things to apologize for in this chapter that I will now apologize in bulk beforehand.

Background Information: "The Divine Comedy" is a 100-stanza poem split into 3 parts - the "Inferno", "Purgatorio", and "Paradiso", representing Hell, Purgatory, and Heaven. It is about a sinner's journey to repentance. Beezlebub is not Satan himself, but an important demon in Hell. The name is pronounced "Bee-A-zul-bub".

* * *

Chapter 3

On Friday, Derek Morgan left a large fancy gift basket on the desk of his friend, colleague, and master - Dr. Spencer Reid. On Saturday and Sunday, nothing bad happened to him.

"Can you believe Morgan didn't mention a thing about the Omniscient Plumber 3000?" Reid asked Garcia in his dark attic lair. "He didn't say anything about it all week."

"He's too scared to say anything," Garcia said, biting the head off a gingerbread man from the gift basket. "He's afraid you'll activate the Omniscient Plumber 3000 again, if he complains about it or even acknowledges its existence."

"Do you think I was a little too hard on him?" Reid asked. "If I were less sociopathic or psychopathic, I think I'd be feeling an infinitesimally small particle of guilt by now."

"No, Master, don't worry your pretty little head over him," the brain-washed accomplice replied, saying exactly the words that the evil Reid wished to hear. "You were perfectly within your rights. In the world of pranking, you shouldn't dish it if you can't take it," she crunched away the limbs of the gingerbread man.

"Thank you, Beezlebub," said the Master. "I was perfectly within my rights. Now, on to the next stage of the operation..."

"Is that my operation codename for this stage, Master?" the accomplice asked.

"Yes, Beezlebub, that's your operation codename, Beezlebub," the Master replied. "For Stage Two, you may call me Master Dante. Here is a schematic for this stage," Master Dante handed Beezlebub a roll of toilet paper.

"The rain in Spain falls mainly on the plain!" Beezlebub shrieked joyously as she unfurled the roll.

* * *

On Friday, after a long tiring work week, Emily Prentiss went out for dinner with her mother at a fancy restaurant in DC. At 10:45 PM, she returned to her apartment to find it just the way she had left it.

Emily showered, changed into her softest flannel pajamas, and settled down in front of the TV with a cup of hot apple cider. She flicked the remote through all the stations before she found a movie she could stomach. The movie was "Constantine", about an anti-hero detective, John Constantine, who spent most of his time smoking himself to death, battling half-angels and half-demons, and journeying through Hell. After five minutes of watching Keanu Reeves exorcise everyone and everything around him, Emily fell asleep in her comfortable armchair.

On Saturday, Emily woke up in a pool of sweat. That was when her troubles began.

When she woke up, the first thing Emily noticed was the heat in her apartment. It was extremely hot, at least 95 degrees. Outside, it was a cloudy autumn day, with the leaves turning orange and dropping off their branches. Inside, it was an inferno of humid summer heat, like DC on any ordinary day in June, July, or August.

"What's going on?" Emily mumbled in annoyance.

She yawned and stretched like a cat before stumbling to her feet and going off to check the thermostat. The thermostat claimed that it was 72 degrees in the apartment. It was clearly broken.

Emily wiped off the sweat from her face. She was sweating all over, but she was too lazy to take another shower. She wandered into the kitchen and poured herself a glass of cold water. Holding the cold glass surface against her face felt just as good as drinking the cold water within.

Before she could exit the kitchen, a large projector screen slid out of the ceiling and rolled itself over the wide doorway separating the kitchen from the dining room. The screen extended all the way to the floor and clamped itself to two metal rings that jutted out of the wall. With the screen blocking the only exit, Emily Prentiss was trapped in her own kitchen.

"Whirrrrrrr!" a sound emanated from the row of cabinets oppposite the doorway.

Emily whipped around to see a projector poking out of one of the upper cabinets. It shone a bright light towards the screen. A black screen slid out of the ceiling over the kitchen window. It dropped all the way to the floor and locked itself into place against the wall. The kitchen light blinked off, leaving Emily, open-mouthed and frightened, in a dark room with only the projector for illumination.

"Click!" the screen turned blood red and displayed a message in ornate black lettering.

"Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch'intrate," said the message.

The message was written in Italian. Italian was not one of Emily's many second languages, but as soon as she saw the message, she knew exactly what it meant and exactly where it had come from.

"Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch'intrate," Emily recited in David Rossi's voice. "Abandon all hope, ye who enter here," Emily recited in Dr. Spencer Reid's voice.

The famous phrase came from "The Divine Comedy", an epic poem written by Dante Alighieri in the 1300s. Specificially, it came from the "Inferno", the portion of "The Divine Comedy" that focused on Dante's journey through Hell. In the poem, it was the final line of the inscription over the Gates of Hell. The Gates of Hell led into the ever-descending Circles of Hell, where unrepentant sinners suffered torments of ever-ascending severity. Satan, the betrayer of God, suffered the worst torment of all in a lake of ice at the bottom of the Ninth Circle.

"Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch'intrate," Emily couldn't resist the mesmerizing Italian words. "Uh-oh," she mouthed as she associated the familiar words with a familiar face. "Reid? Is that you? What are you doing here?"

"The rain in Spain falls mainly on the plain!" said a high-pitched cartoonish voice from the microwave.

The microwave turned itself on and spun a cluster of incandescent lightbulbs in its pan. As they spun, the lightbulbs flashed in brilliant colors. Some of them popped and launched disks of glass into the walls of the microwave.

"Hush, Beezlebub! We don't have time for your silly little fixations," said a deep solemn voice from the stove.

The hot plate of the electric stove turned itself on, burning up several chunks of bright yellow sulfur rocks on its shiny surface. In a few seconds, the kitchen was filled with the smell of fire and brimstone.

"Yes, Master Dante!" Beezlebub chirped obediently.

"Emily Prentiss!" Master Dante addressed the shocked agent.

"Yes, sir?" Emily asked in a tiny petrified voice.

"Your time of reckoning has come," Master Dante declared, "It is time for you to repent."

"Repent?" Emily peeped softly, then recovered her faculties as an experienced FBI agent. "Reid? Is that you? Stop burning that stuff! It's going to set off the smoke detector!"

"There is no one named Reid here!" Master Dante yelled, "Do not mention that name again!"

"I'll repent if you stop burning that stuff," Emily bargained, "Except I don't know what I'm repenting for."

"Do I really have to remind you, Sinner?" Master Dante demanded ominously.

"Does Master Dante really have to remind you, Sinner? The rain in Spain falls mainly on the plain!" Beezlebub sing-songed loudly.

"Beezlebub! How many times have I told you to cease and desist with that awful singing?" Master Dante asked in exasperation.

"Bad Beezlebub! Beezlebub bad! Repent, repent, repent!" Beezlebub repented.

Emily braced herself against the kitchen island, took several deep breaths, and covered her eyes with her fingers. When she lifted her fingers, she hoped to see her kitchen returned to its normal serene state. This had to be some kind of lucid nightmare.

"Circle 1, Limbo," said Master Dante, "Beezlebub?"

Beezlebub cleared her throat and switched to her official voice. "Circle 1, Limbo, reserved for virtuous non-believers. In this case, reserved for those who do not accept Master Dante as their personal Lord and Savior. Does not apply to Emily Prentiss, because Emily Prentiss, although a non-believer, is not virtuous in any way."

"Circle 2, Lust," said Master Dante, "Beezlebub?"

"Circle 2, Lust, reserved for carnal malefactors," said Beezlebub. "Emily Prentiss! Confess and repent for your sins of lust! The recent ones only please! We know you have committed many many sins of lust, and we don't want to hear all the sordid details!"

"What are you talking about?" Emily asked angrily. "Reid! Get out of my apartment! When I get my hands on you..."

"Lust! Lust!" Beezlebub shrieked, "Hands off my Master, you shameless harlot!"

At her words, a blast of hot dry air blew out of the exhaust fan over the stove and hit Emily in the face with thousands of specks of grease. She wiped away the specks with a dish towel and considered her sins of lust. There was that handsome young bag boy at the grocery store that she may have stared at a little too long. There was that handsome middle-aged priest at the Catholic church that she may have entertained a few harmless visions about. Other than that, Emily couldn't think of any other recent sins of lust. She was way too busy at work to commit sins of lust. The only way she could commit sins of lust was to commit them with people at work, and she shuddered to think the thought.

"None?" Master Dante asked dejectedly, "None at all? Beezlebub!"

"Emily Prentiss!" Beezlebub demanded, "How dare you? How dare you not commit sins of lust involving the delectable Master Dante? Have you never expended a single carnal thought upon the godly form of the Master? Have you never welcomed the Master into your hourly carnal visions? Have you never noticed examples such as these?" Beezlebub projected a series of poorly photoshopped images onto the screen.

The images depicted Master Dante in the guise of dashing medieval personas - the King, the Pope, the Knight, the Page, and the Physician. Each image was a combination of a photograph and a painting. Emily thought that she recognized two of the painted bodies, but she couldn't quite place them, because she was distracted by the poorly photoshopped head of a smiling leering Master Dante.

"Pick one!" Beezlebub screamed, "Pick one to have carnal thoughts about!"

"Um...I guess I'll take the Page?" Emily answered.

"I always knew you were a cougar, Emily Prentiss," Beezlebub said with satisfaction. "As punishment for neglecting Master Dante..." Beezlebub released a torrent of cooking grease from the fan.

The pressure from the fan blew the grease several times around the room before the primary blob hit Emily in the face. The grease dripped slowly down her face and into her mouth. The disgusting yellow goo tasted horrible, like blubber that had been collected from beached whale carcasses and melted down. Emily experienced simultaneous rage and fear, but she was able to shake both feelings to replace them with curiosity. The image of the Page stuck in her mind, and she had to admit to herself that the get-up was not without its charms. She wondered what Reid...Master Dante...would look like dressed up as the Page in real life rather than in Photoshop.

"Do you repent?" Beezlebub asked sternly, "Do you promise to have carnal thoughts about Master Dante each and every day?"

"I repent," Emily replied sincerely, "I repent and promise to have carnal thoughts about Master Dante each and every day."

"Thank you, Emily Prentiss," said Master Dante. "Circle 3, Gluttony. Beezlebub?"

"Wait! What do you mean Circle 3? I already repented!" Emily protested. "Reid! I mean...the Page...I mean...Master Dante! I'm not playing your game anymore!"

"Your repentance was only for the sin of lust, Emily Prentiss!" Beezlebub chided the clueless sinner. "The rain in Spain falls mainly on the plain!"

"Beezlebub!" Master Dante chided his out-of-control accomplice.

"Repent, repent, repent!" Beezlebub repented.

"As you may recall, Emily Prentiss, there are nine Circles of Hell in Dante's 'Inferno'," Master Dante explained. "We have only traveled through two of the circles. Our journey is not nearly over. Beezlebub?"

Beezlebub cleared her throat again. "On Thursday, June 3, 2010, you, Emily Prentiss, stole Master Dante's lunch from the BAU refrigerator," Beezlebub recited, "Do you repent?"

"Master Dante's lunch was an entire 8-inch-wide chocolate cake," Emily said. "I only ate a teeny-tiny sliver of it! No one should eat an entire cake by themselves!"

"Are you calling Master Dante a glutton, Glutton?" Beezlebub yelled.

"No!" Emily insisted, "I just meant that it's unhealthy for one person to eat that much chocolate cake at once!"

"I do believe Emily Prentiss is calling me a glutton, Beezlebub," said Master Dante, "I do feel hurt," Master Dante sniffled.

"Emily Prentiss!" Beezlebub demanded, "Look what you've done! You hurt Master Dante's feelings. You made Master Dante sad. What do you have to say for yourself?"

"Um, sorry, Reid...Master Dante," Emily answered, "I didn't mean to call you a glutton. How can I make it up to you?" she asked timidly, fearing the consequences of making Master Dante sad.

"You can write me a little poem," Master Dante suggested, "A little poem in the terza rima. Any little poem will do," he sniffled again, "I do love my poetry, and no one ever wants to talk to me about it, and no one ever writes me any poetry."

"Yes, Master," Emily replied, "But what exactly is the terza rima? The term is familiar, but I can't remember exactly what it means."

"The terza rima is a type of verse invented by me," Master Dante explained. "It consists of three-line stanzas in the a-b-a, b-c-b, c-d-c, d-e-d rhyming pattern. I would be most pleased, Emily Prentiss, if you could write me a little poem about your own gluttony. Even a tiny little stanza will do."

"The rain in Spain falls mainly on the plain!" Beezlebub screamed. "Write a poem, Emily Prentiss! Emily Prentiss, write a poem!"

Emily sucked down a tall glass of cold water before settling down to consider her poem. She was not a natural poet, and she was shy about composing poems in front of other people. She was particularly shy today, considering the poem had to be a terza rima about her own gluttony.

"Emily is a...little piggy..." Emily began.

"All she does is...stuff her face..."

"Makes her butt all...big and..." Emily couldn't think of a word to rhyme with "piggy".

"An awful poem if I ever heard one! The rain in Spain falls mainly on the plain!" Beezlebub released a flood of cat-litter/ground beef slurry from the fan.

Emily danced in agony as the cat-litter wormed up her nose and the ground beef wiggled down her throat. She could not conjure up enough pressure in her sinuses to blow out both the cat litter and the ground beef. She wished she were dead, but reconsidered when she remembered that Master Dante would be waiting for her at the Gates of Hell.

"Emily is a little piggy  
All she does is stuff her face  
Makes her butt all big and wiggly," Emily compensated with a near-rhyme. At this point, she was already covered in cooking grease, cat litter, and ground beef, so she had nothing, not even her dignity, to lose.

"Thank you, Emily Prentiss," Master Dante said. "Compared to my masterful works, your poem is incomplete and poor, but it's the first poem that anyone's written for me. I am most touched."

"Emily Prentiss!" Beezlebub demanded, "You still haven't repented for your sins of gluttony!"

"I repent," Emily whimpered, "I repent and promise never to touch Master Dante's personal food items ever again."

"Thank you, Emily Prentiss," said Master Dante. "Circle 4, Avarice and Prodigality. Beezlebub?"

"On Friday, October 8, 2010, you, Emily Prentiss, unlike Derek Morgan, failed to shower Master Dante with gifts of candy and caffeine. Do you repent?"

"What? Why would Morgan shower Reid with gifts?" Emily asked in confusion. "Avarice and Prodigality? I don't even know what Prodigality is!"

"Let me explain, Sinner," Master Dante sighed at her ignorance. "Avarice is the hoarding of possessions. In this case, you chose to hoard your money rather than shower me with gifts. Prodigality is the squandering of possessions. In this case, you failed to squander your money to purchase gifts for me."

"That doesn't make any sense!" Emily argued. "According to your definitions, Avarice and Prodigality are opposites. How can I commit both sins at the same time?"

"You squandered your money to buy gifts for yourself, and you hoarded your money instead of buying gifts for Master Dante!" Beezlebub made it all very clear. "The rain in Spain falls mainly on the plain!" she released a hurricane of stinking fish heads from the fan.

Emily wiped away the scales and resisted the urge to dry heave. One of the fish heads attached itself to her pajama sleeve with its open mouth full of sharp pointy teeth. Bile rose in her throat every time she moved her arm, but she didn't want to touch the fish head to remove it from her sleeve. Emily was glad that her stomach was empty. There was not even any water to throw up. All the water in her body had been sweated out in the 95-degree heat.

"I repent," Emily murmured, "I repent and promise to shower Master Dante with gifts of candy and caffeine at every opportunity."

"Thank you, Emily Prentiss," said Master Dante. "Circle 5, Wrath and Sullenness. Beezlebub?"

"On Tuesday, July 27, 2010, you, Emily Prentiss, flew into a rage at Derek Morgan, because he told a series of midget and dwarf jokes. Later that day, you, Emily Prentiss, failed to laugh at any of Master Dante's quantum physics knock-knock jokes."

"The midget and dwarf jokes were tasteless and mean!" Emily protested, "The physics jokes weren't even remotely funny!"

"Beezlebub, live and learn," Master Dante warned his accomplice, "Live and learn, Beezlebub. This is what happens when sinners stray from the flock."

"Reid! I'm going to..." Emily stopped in mid-speech as a tornado of squid tentacles plugged up her mouth. "I repent," she mumbled through the tentacles, "I repent and promise to always laugh at Derek Morgan's jokes, no matter how tasteless, and to always laugh at Master Dante's jokes, no matter how corny."

"Thank you, Emily Prentiss," said Master Dante. "As a reward for your cooperation through Upper Hell, I have decided to shorten your journey. You may leap over the sins of Heresy, Violence, and Fraud, and head directly towards Treachery in the Ninth Circle of Hell."

"Master Dante!" Beezlebub interrupted. "How can you let Emily Prentiss skip over so many sins? Do you not remember the time she disbelieved your theory about cannibalistic tyrannosaurs living on remote fantasy islands in the present day? That's Heresy! Do you not remember the time she tried to strangle you for eating a mere 95% of her chocolate cake? That's Violence! Do you not remember the time Emily Prentiss and Derek Morgan crank-called you as Lila Archer and the lesbian artist for an entire weekend? That's Fraud!"

"Yes, yes, Beezlebub," Master Dante replied. "But remember, Beezlebub, a Lord and Savior must be magnanimous. How else can we expect the sinners to repent and follow our example?"

"Heresy! Heresy upon Heresy!" Beezlebub shrieked. "Master Dante, how could you? How could you mention other lords and saviors? There is only one Lord and Savior, and that is you and you alone!"

"I repent," Master Dante said calmly, "I repent and promise to always remember that there is only one Lord and Savior and that is me and me alone."

"Emily Prentiss!" Beezlebub recovered, "Get away from that screen! We are not done with you! There is still the matter of Treachery to address!"

"Circle 9, Treachery," said Master Dante, "Beezlebub?"

"On Tuesday, September 28, 2010, you, Emily Prentiss, committed the most cowardly foul act of treachery imaginable. You tricked Master Dante into believing that your mother wished to discuss his works with him. You brought false hope to Master Dante's fragile psyche, and you manipulated Master Dante's delicate sensibilities. You joked about Master Dante behind his back, and you conspired with other sinners to torture Master Dante every time Master Dante developed laryngitis. Do you not know that Master Dante's finely-molded vocal cords are prone to inflammation caused by loud, frequent, and high-pitched..."

"Beezlebub! That's enough!" Master Dante took offence.

"I repent," said Beezlebub, "I repent and promise never to refer to any of Master Dante's voicings as 'high-pitched' ever again. The rain in Spain falls mainly on the plain!" Beezlebub, confused over who was or wasn't repenting, released a blizzard of roadkill collected from the scenic highways and byways of the DC metropolitan area.

Most of the roadkill was fresh, having been collected the night before. Emily brushed the squirrel tails and bunny ears out of her eyes before collapsing onto the floor in a puddle of remorse. On one side, a stiffened raccoon paw grasped her by the arm and comforted her. On the other side, a dried-up bobcat snout snuffled her vile dripping locks.

Emily cried tears of joy. Finally, she had accepted Master Dante as her personal Lord and Savior. Emily Prentiss was an ignorant ignoble sinner, but Master Dante would bring her eternal salvation.

"I repent," Emily said, "I repent and promise never to commit any sins against Master Dante ever again, except for the sins that Master Dante wants me to commit against him. I love you, Master Dante. You are my personal Lord and Savior."

"Thank you, Emily Prentiss," said Master Dante, "Beezlebub?"

"The rain in Spain falls mainly on the plain!" Beezlebub changed the slide on the projector screen.

The ominous inscription and photoshopped images were replaced by the word "Purgatorio", informing Emily Prentiss that she had passed through Hell and entered Purgatory to uphold her repentances and promises. In Purgatory, if Emily repented truly and deeply enough, Master Dante might one day welcome her into Heaven. Master Dante's "Paradiso" was the one place that Emily most desired to go.

As Emily basked in her new-found enlightenment, the projector screen rolled up and disappeared into the ceiling. The black screen at the window followed, and the projector in the kitchen cabinet withdrew into the back wall. All manner of rancid putrid debris littered the counters, floors, and walls of Emily's kitchen, but Emily paid no heed. She lingered upon the melodious voice of Master Dante and the less melodious voice of Beezlebub arguing from a dark attic lair. She hoped the voices would stay with her just a little longer.

"The rain in Spain falls mainly on the plain!"

"The rain in Spain falls mainly on the plain!"

"The rain in Spain falls mainly on the plain!"

"Beezlebub!"

"Repent, repent, repent!" Beezlebub released a final tide of slaughterhouse blood into the kitchen.

"I love you, Master Dante," said Emily Prentiss, covered in dark red animal blood, "You are my personal Lord and Savior."

"The rain in Spain falls mainly on the plain!"

"Beezlebub!"

"Repent, repent, repent!"

* * *

Next up: David Rossi, a sci-fi Grand Master, and a multiple personality robot on a Segway.


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I do not own Criminal Minds. This chapter has a T rating.

* * *

Chapter 4

On Friday, Emily Prentiss left a three-tiered fudge-filled dessert stand on the desk of her friend, colleague, and personal Lord and Savior - Dr. Spencer Reid. On Satuday and Sunday, nothing bad happened to her.

"Emily didn't mention anything about the 'Inferno' all week," Reid pouted at Garcia in his dark attic lair. "Why couldn't she have acknowledged it in passing? I don't even know if she's having regular carnal thoughts about the Page!"

"Isn't this acknowledgment enough?" Garcia slurred through a mouthful of dark chocolate fudge. "Besides, it's better that she and Morgan le Fay not mention anything about their punishments at work. It might tip off the rest of the team."

"Morgan le Fay?" Reid asked quizzically.

"Indeed!" Garcia turned to her laptop. "I took the liberty of some additional photoshopping, Master. Here is Derek Morgan as the beautiful enchanting sorceress Morgan le Fay, and here is you, Master, as the handsome dashing King Arthur. As you may recall from the Arthurian legend, Morgan le Fay and King Arthur were half-siblings who slept with each other to spawn an illegitimate son, Mordred. The wicked Mordred eventually turned against his own father, and they were both fatally wounded in their final confrontation."

"Please destruct that image and all electronic devices into which it has been pixelated," the Master ordered his liberty-taking accomplice.

"Yes, Master," the brain-washed accomplice replied, unplugging her laptop and throwing it out the window, over the side of the balcony, and into the open dumpster below.

"Thank you, R. Sammy," the Master said appreciatively, "You are the best positronic brain that anyone could hope to own."

"Oh Master, you are the one who must be thanked!" the positronic brain exclaimed. "R. Sammy? Is that my operation codename for this stage, Master?"

"Yes, R. Sammy, that's your operation codename, R. Sammy," the Master replied. "It stands for Robot Sammy, which may stand for Robot Samuel or Robot Samantha, depending on David Rossi's...sexual preferences. For Stage Three, you may call me Sci-Fi Grand Master Asimov. Here is a blueprint for our engineering project," Sci-Fi Grand Master Asimov handed over a sheet of vellum covered with florid writing and elegant diagrams.

"A robot may not harm a human being or, through inaction, allow a human being to come to harm," R. Sammy recited the First Law of Robotics. "Or, through inaction, allow a human being to come to harm," it emphasized.

* * *

On Saturday evening, David Rossi enjoyed a bottle of fine red wine while he penned the 131st chapter of his Great American Novel. After re-joining the BAU, Rossi had given up writing true crime non-fiction. He now wrote tawdry romance novels in his dimly-lit candle-scented study.

"Ding-dong!" the doorbell rang.

In an alcohol-induced trance, Rossi answered the door without checking the peephole. That was when his troubles began.

"Greetings, David Rossi," said the apparition at the door.

Rossi stared at the apparition, not knowing whether to fear it or pity it. The apparition wheeled itself into the foyer on its Segway. Rossi could not detach his eyeballs from the crude robotic form. The "robot", if such a thing could be called a robot, was a collection of cardboard boxes married through the powers vested in Super Glue. It was approximately five feet tall, with slinkies for arms and tubes of wrapping paper for legs, of which there were four to support the weight of the electronic components hidden in its torso. It was vaguely humanoid, as it possessed a head with glowing blue LED eyes, a sink faucet for a nose, and a hole containing a speaker for a mouth. On its brown cardboard torso was stamped the words "U.S. Robots and Mechanical Men, Inc."

Rossi backed away from the robot on the Segway. The robot ignored him as it installed a crossbar over the front door. It displayed an astounding level of manual dexterity with the appendages that whipped out of its torso. Rossi peeked out the window and discovered that all the windows of his house had been crossbar-ed from the outside.

"My name is R. Sammy," the robot finished its task and turned to face its master. "I am ready to serve you, Master."

"R. Sammy?" Rossi asked, "Would the 'R' happen to stand for 'Robot'?"

"Yes, Master," R. Sammy replied. "How may I serve you, Master?"

"You may serve me by returning to wherever it is you just came from," Rossi answered sarcastically. "And I'd appreciate it if you remove the crossbars and return the interior and exterior of my house to their original condition."

"You have no need of my services, Master?" R. Sammy asked, its head slinking forwards on its slinky neck. "I am here to serve your every whim, Master," the robot flipped out a pair of bushy white eyebrows from its cardboard head and wiggled them stiffly up and down.

"Get out of my house, Robot!" Rossi ordered meanly, pointing at the front door. He tapped his slippered foot against the hardwood floor and set his hands on his hips in a confrontational stance.

"I'm sorry, David Rossi. Your request cannot be fulfilled," said a new voice from the region of the eyebrows. "A robot may not harm a human being or, through inaction, allow a human being to come to harm."

"That's it. I'm getting my gun," Rossi stomped towards the study. "If you don't get out in five minutes, a human being is going to harm a robot."

"Dave, it's me, Sci-Fi Grand Master Asimov," the voice followed Rossi. "You wouldn't shoot me, would you? We're kindred spirits, you and I. We're both writers. We share the same craft."

"Who sent you here?" Rossi asked, even though he already knew the answer.

"I came of my own free will, Master," said the squeaky robot voice. "I have come to serve you, Master. Please allow me to serve you," the head slinked forwards a little more.

"You may serve me by getting out of my sight and making me something warm to drink," said Rossi, testing the robot.

In his heart, Rossi was curious about the pathetically crude creature. He suspected that Reid was pulling a prank on him for his teasing during Reid's bout of laryngitis. He admitted that he had not behaved in the most professional manner during that incident.

The robot reminded Rossi of Reid - hapless, insecure, and eager to please. He figured that the kid was better off building ridiculously ill-conceived robots than designing super-viruses to wipe out the human species. He had no doubt that the kid could pull off the latter if he put his unstable mind to it.

Rossi shuffled back into his study and settled into the swivel chair at his desk. Five minutes later, R. Sammy rolled in with a cup of tantalizing mulled wine, complete with a cinnamon stick carved into the Leaning Tower of Pisa.

"Thank you, R. Sammy," Rossi said magnanimously, secretly pleased with the wine, the cinnamon stick, and the tower. "Why don't you have a seat?" he pointed at an armchair next to the fireplace.

"I do not sit, Master," R. Sammy replied, "I am...incapable."

"I see," Rossi scrutinized the tubular legs of the robot. "That's why you roll around on a Segway, isn't it? Your manufacturer did not design you for sitting?"

"No, Master. My manufacturer, U.S. Robots and Mechanical Men, Incorporated, did not design me for sitting, although I am capable of every other activity. Except for reproduction and sitting, I am capable of every other human activity."

"Every other human activity?" Rossi asked significantly.

"Yes, Master," said the robot, "Do you prefer Samuel or Samantha for tonight?"

"Excuse me?" Rossi asked in confusion, "Are there two of you?"

"Yes, Master," said the robot. "There are two of me within the same body. I am two positronic brains in one. I can be Samuel, as I am now, or I can be Samantha, if you wish me so."

"Am I to believe that your kind has different genders?" Rossi asked.

"Of course, Master," R. Sammy replied. "You would know that if you had ever read the 'Foundation', 'Robot', or 'Empire' series by Sci-Fi Grand Master Asimov."

"I'm sorry, R. Sammy," Rossi apologized to the gender-bending robot. "I have never read any of the works of Sci-Fi Grand Master Asimov."

"To return to the subject at hand, Master," said the robot, "Would you like me to be Samuel or Samantha tonight? Let me demonstrate..."

The robot spun around several times on its Segway. Within its torso, it made a series of loud clacking noises. From the top of its head, it flipped out a curly blonde wig on a stainless steel arm. The arm withdrew into its slinky neck as the wig settled gently onto its head. Clacking noises continued in its lower torso until a door opened to reveal a non-functional incubation chamber within. The door snapped shut, and the clacking noises ceased.

"I am now Samantha, Master," said the robot in the same squeaky voice. "I am ready to engage in sexual intercourse at your earliest convenience."

"What? What are you talking about?" Rossi gawked at the vaguely female robot.

"A robot may not harm a human being or, through inaction, allow a human being to come to harm," Sci-Fi Grand Master Asimov spoke from the region of the eyebrows.

"Reid! Get the hell out of my house, and take your perverted mechanical spawn with you!" Rossi shook his fist at the eyebrows.

"A robot may not harm a human being or, through inaction, allow a human being to come to harm," Sci-Fi Grand Master Asimov repeated.

"Why do you keep repeating that obnoxious phrase?" Rossi asked angrily. "I'm trying to enjoy a quiet Saturday evening at home, and you invade my house with your nasty little sexbot! You'd better pay for the property damage caused by those crossbars too!"

"I cannot, through inaction, allow you to come to harm, Master," Samantha whirled around on the Segway. "My telepathy module informs me that you are lonely and in need of sexual intercourse. I am perfectly capable, Master, if you would only give me a chance," the robot whimpered slightly, even though its facial expression remained the same.

"I'm sorry, Samantha. I didn't mean to hurt your feelings, but I do not have sex with robots," Rossi couldn't believe he was apologizing to a robot. It bothered him that something about the robot drew out his soft side.

"A robot may not harm a human being or, through inaction, allow a human being to come to harm," Sci-Fi Grand Master Asimov repeated again.

"I know what you need, Master," Samantha declared confidently. "I am telepathic. I know you even better than your own conscious mind. What you need, Master, is Samuel!"

The robot spun around several times on its Segway. Within its torso, it made a series of loud clacking noises. Through the top of its head, the stainless steel arm raised itself and sucked the curly blonde wig back into the cardboard box. Clacking noises continued in its lower torso until a door opened to reveal an empty space within. The door snapped shut, and the clacking noises ceased.

"I am now Samuel, Master," said the robot in the same squeaky voice. "I am ready to engage in sexual intercourse at your earliest convenience."

"Get away from me, Robot!" Rossi edged away from the Segway. "Reid! I'm going to have your hide for this!"

"A robot may not harm a human being or, through inaction, allow a human being to come to harm," said Sci-Fi Grand Master Asimov. "If you harm this 'Reid' personage, David Rossi, your hide shall be the one that is had!"

"But I'm a human being too," Rossi reasoned, "Your robots can't harm me."

"My robots can harm you if they apply their programming," said Sci-Fi Grand Master Asimov. "A robot may not harm humanity, or, through inaction, allow humanity to come to harm. That is the Zeroth Law of Robotics, which supersedes all other laws, including the First Law."

"What does that have to do with anything?" Rossi edged out the door of his study.

"The continued well-being of 'Reid', unlike the continued well-being of 'Rossi', is crucial for the continued well-being of humanity," said Sci-Fi Grand Master Asimov. "A robot may not harm humanity, or, through inaction, allow humanity to come to harm."

"That's just an excuse for robots to turn against their masters," Rossi accused the Sci-Fi Grand Master.

"I do not wish to harm you, Master," said Samuel from the region of the mouth. "I would never turn against you. But I cannot, through inaction, allow you to come to harm. I only wish to soothe your loneliness with sexual intercourse. My programming informs me that sexual intercourse releases happiness-inducing compounds, such as monoamines, dopamines, norepinephrine, and serotonin. Love chemicals controlled by phenethyamine are also found in..."

"Chocolate?" Rossi guessed the first aphrodisiac that came to mind. "Chocolate. I love chocolate," he murmured under his breath.

"Peas too! It's also found in peas!" Sci-Fi Grand Master Asimov replied from the region of the eyebrows.

His deep solemn voice was replaced by a voice even squeakier than that of R. Sammy. Rossi surmised that Sci-Fi Grand Master Asimov was intensely excited.

"Peas?" Rossi asked skeptically.

"Indeed, some veritable..." Sci-Fi Grand Master Asimov stopped short. "It is better to show than to tell," the deep solemn voice returned. "Samuel?"

"Yes, Sci-Fi Grand Master Asimov," said the robot voice from the region of the mouth.

The robot followed Rossi down the hall towards his bedroom and closed the door behind itself. It installed a crossbar over the bedroom door to match the crossbars over the bedroom windows on the outside of the house. Rossi gaped in open-mouthed wide-eyed terror as he realized that he was now trapped in his bedroom with a sex-crazed dissociative identity robot programmed to follow the Laws of Robotics.

"A robot may not harm a human being or, through inaction, allow a human being to come to harm," Sci-Fi Grand Master Asimov said on cue.

"Look, Samuel, I don't know how you're reading my brain signals, but I assure you that I am not lonely and I am not hankering for sex," Rossi backed away from the robot.

He made the mistake of backing onto his bed. He shrank into a pile of velvety pillows near the headboard. Samuel prepared himself to join his master on the bed.

Samuel backed the Segway next to the bed until his posterior faced the bedspread. One by one, he detached his four cardboard feet from the Segway and lowered himself onto the floor. On the floor, the robot wobbled a little before flipping himself backwards onto the bed, his torso landing across Rossi's knees. Using his slinky arms and unseen vibrating devices within his tubular legs, Samuel agitated himself until he was lying on one side of the bed, head against the headboard, feet pointing towards the footboard. The Segway rolled across the hardwood floor to the other side of the bed, where Rossi tried to escape the sex-driven male robot. Every time Rossi tried to dart his way to the bathroom, the Segway blocked his path. After twenty minutes of battling the Segway, Rossi was so tired, sweaty, and breathless that he had no choice but to collapse onto the bed next to the robot.

"Samuel?" Rossi addressed the robot.

"Yes, Master?" the robot was ready to serve.

"Can you switch back to Samantha? I feel more comfortable around Samantha."

"Certainly, Master," the robot clacked its way back to its Samantha identity. "Are you ready to have sexual intercourse, Master? I am capable of a variety of positions and functions."

"No, Samantha," Rossi addressed the female identity. "I do not wish to have sex with a robot. We humans are only accustomed to having sex with each other."

"David Rossi, your statements are patently false," said Sci-Fi Grand Master Asimov. "In my 'Foundation' series, humans and robots were perfectly accustomed to having sex with each other. My main character, mathematican Hari Seldon, frequently had sex with his robot friend and protector, Dors Venabili. In fact, Hari Seldon eventually married Dors Venabili, and they loved each other until Dors's untimely death."

"Isn't Dors a robot? How does a robot die an untimely death?" Rossi asked.

"Dors Venabili died when she killed a human being, Tamwile Elar, who tried to destroy Hari Seldon's Psychohistorical Project, thereby threatening the continued well-being of humanity," Sci-Fi Grand Master Asimov explained. "Breaking the First Law of Robotics overwhelmed Dors Venabili's programming, even though she had broken the First Law in order to uphold the Zeroth Law. A robot may not harm a human being or, through inaction, allow a human being to come to harm. A robot may not harm humanity, or, through inaction, allow humanity to come to harm."

"If you do not wish to have sexual intercourse at this time, Master," said Samantha, "May we at least cuddle on your bed? I am telepathic. Your brain signals inform me that you would be willing to cuddle with me. Cuddling is almost as effective as sexual intercourse for the production of happiness-inducing compounds. Your brain signals also inform me that you have already entertained kinky thoughts about sexual intercourse with me as both Samuel and Samantha. Perhaps we may engage in sexual intercourse at a later time if you are tired or incapable tonight."

"I am never incapable!" Rossi declared furiously.

"I am sorry, Master," Samantha apologized. "Let me make it up to you," she agitated herself until she turned onto her side.

A drawer opened from her upper torso, revealing a collection of small round green objects within. Rossi drew back in disgust from the bowl of boiled peas.

"Please have some peas, Master," Samantha invited Rossi to reach into her upper torso. "Let us share this aphrodisiac together. Then, we may cuddle each other into slumber."

"You can eat and sleep too?" Rossi asked, curious inspite of the bizarre situation.

"Yes, Master," Samantha replied, "Except for reproduction, sitting, and harming humans and humanity, I am capable of all human activities."

With that, a long roasting fork slid out of her middle torso and skewered several peas onto its points. Rossi popped a couple of peas into his mouth. He hated peas, but he feared the consequences of not eating peas when invited to do so by Samantha. He feared whatever else might slide out of the limitless capacity of the robot's torso.

After ten minutes, the human and the robot had emptied the bowl of peas, so it was time to cuddle their way into slumber. Samantha agitated herself into a comfortable position next to her master and draped her slinky arms across his chest. Rossi was extremely uncomfortable with all of Samantha's sharp angles, straight edges, and cold stainless steel appendages surrounding him. Samantha, being telepathic, recognized the discomfort of her master and opened a drawer in her upper torso. Rossi stared, fascinated, as Samantha bounced out a pair of large soft heated breasts, which she pressed up against his side. The breasts vibrated against Rossi's sore muscles, and he admitted that they made him feel pretty damn good. They even undulated and purred whenever he burrowed into them. Rossi fell into a deep peaceful slumber that he had not experienced since the days before his first marriage.

"A robot may not harm a human being or, through inaction, allow a human being to come to harm," Sci-Fi Grand Master Asimov whispered in lullaby.

On Sunday morning, David Rossi awakened to the smell of bacon frying on the stove. He padded into the kitchen to find Samantha putting the finishing touches on a delightful brunch. There were waffles with maple syrup, strips of crispy bacon, lobster omelettes, cups of homemade yogurt, dishes of superfoody berries, along with milk, orange juice, and black coffee.

"Good morning, Samantha," said Rossi in an exceedingly good mood, "How are you today?"

"Very well, Master, thank you," Samantha answered. "I have examined my programming overnight, Master, and I have reached the conclusion that your continued well-being, unlike the continued well-being of 'Reid', is crucial to the continued well-being of humanity. Therefore, I would like to collect your semen sample for cloning purposes," she handed her master a small plastic cup.

"What?" Rossi stared in shock.

"We would like to clone you, Master," Samantha explained, "As many times as possible. We require a semen sample to use in our newly-developed artificial fertilization procedure. Each of your sperm cells will be used to fertilize one artificial egg, and each of your clones will be incubated by one of us."

"We? Us? Is this part of Sci-Fi Grand Master Asimov's plan?" Rossi asked.

"No, Master," Samantha replied, "Sci-Fi Grand Master Asimov is sleeping off an overdose of spiked punch. He is unavailable for comment at this time. We are the newly-created Consortium for the Dissemination of David Rossi Across the Known and Unknown Universe. Each of your clones will populate a planet in the future Galactic Empire. Ten thousand years from now, you, David Rossi, will be recognized as the Father of Humanity."

"Well...In that case..." Rossi succumbed to vanity.

He took the plastic cup with him to the bathroom and returned five minutes later with a capped semen sample. It was still warm as he passed it to the robot.

R. Sammy, no longer Samantha now that it had withdrawn the wig into its head, accepted the semen sample reverently. Like everything else in the universe, the sample disappeared into the robot's torso.

"Thank you, Master," said R. Sammy, "Samantha shall bear the first clone."

"But I thought that robots couldn't reproduce?" Rossi reminded R. Sammy.

"We have upgraded our programming overnight," R. Sammy replied. "For the sake of upholding the Zeroth Law, we may now supplant females of your species and seed all future human populations with clones of yourself."

"I'm very flattered, R. Sammy," Rossi said sincerely.

"It is nothing more than you deserve, Master," R. Sammy said. "Now, I must withdraw to my manufacturer for further programming. It has been a pleasure serving you, Master."

"The pleasure is all mine, Samantha," Rossi smiled at the robot, imagining it with the curly blonde wig draped demurely over its glowing blue LED eyes.

He waited patiently as the robot uninstalled the crossbars over the doors and windows of his house. Before the robot rolled away on its Segway, Rossi handed it a cluster of flowers from a vase in the foyer. The flowers, being two days old, were a poor gift, but Rossi could not let the robot leave without a warm parting gesture. He lingered at his doorway as the robot rolled down the sidewalk, around the corner, and out of his sight forever.

"Thank you, Sci-Fi Grand Master Asimov," Rossi said to his empty living room. "Thank you, U.S. Robots and Mechanical Men, Incorporated. Thank you for sending me R. Sammy. Samantha was far better than any of my ex-wives."

He paused, waiting for a reply from Sci-Fi Grand Master Asimov. None came, and he wiped away a tear in the silence of his large barren home.

"A robot may not harm a human being or, through inaction, allow a human being to come to harm. A robot may not harm humanity, or, through inaction, allow humanity to come to harm," Rossi comforted himself with the Laws of Robotics.

* * *

"Master? Wake up, Master! R. Sammy has returned!" Garcia snapped her fingers in front of Reid's face as he slept on the couch.

"What? Huh? Did I oversleep?" Reid flailed his way to a sitting position.

"A little bit, Master, but you were so cute with your teddy bear and teddy rattlesnake that I couldn't bear to wake you," Garcia said.

"Why is R. Sammy back?" Reid asked groggily. "We haven't completed the torture of David Rossi yet. R. Sammy has to proposition Rossi further in its Samuel identity."

"R. Sammy must have malfunctioned while we were sleeping," Garcia lied. "He has returned of his own accord. He says that he's brought something back for us."

"I don't remember asking R. Sammy to bring anything back from Rossi's house," Reid tried to recall the past twelve hours through the haze of a severe hangover.

"R. Sammy, what have you brought us?" Garcia asked the robot.

The robot flipped open a tiny drawer from its lower torso. Reid and Garcia peered into the drawer. Garcia read the printed label over the cap of the plastic cup within.

"David Rossi...Semen Sample...October 17, 2010," Garcia feigned shock.

"Seeeeeeemen sample!" Reid screeched in genuine shock. "Put it away, R. Sammy! Get it away, Garcia! Get it away from me!" he ordered his accomplices.

With cat-like reflexes, Reid dashed over to the far side of the robot, putting several feet between himself and the semen sample. He scurried towards his bedroom as R. Sammy, drawer open and semen sample exposed, rolled after him on its Segway. The robot on the Segway chased the Sci-Fi Grand Master from turreted living room to turreted bedroom to turreted living room to turreted bedroom. Garcia stood frozen in the hallway, still feigning shock, as Reid twisted this way and that to avoid contacting the semen sample.

"Don't worry, Reid! It can't impregnate you!" Garcia tried to calm her panicking master.

"I know that, Garcia! Don't you think I know that? Still, I'd rather not have 'It' anywhere near me!" Reid crawled under the slinky-armed reach of the robot.

"What if it were a stool sample? Would you be so afraid of a stool sample?" Garcia tried to divert her master onto the path of reason.

"A stool sample would be a stool sample! A stool sample would not be 'It'!" Reid flattened himself against the wall to let the robot pass him in the narrow hallway.

"Can you please shut that thing off?" Reid screamed.

"I can't! I've tried all the buttons!" Garcia pressed a random remote control, one that had nothing to do with R. Sammy.

She stuck out her foot to trip Reid as he stumbled past her across the slippery hardwood floor. Reid swayed, fell forwards, bumped into the advancing robot, scurried backwards, and watched helplessly as the semen sample flew out of its cup onto his corduroy pants. The semen sample coated the pants just below the knee. The grooved corduroy surface absorbed the suspension hungrily. Reid felt like a biologist in a level 4 biohazard lab. Having just pricked himself with an ebola needle, the biologist had ten seconds to cut off his own finger before the deadly virus made its way into his bloodstream. Even with Garcia present, the decision was easy. Reid jumped out of his corduroy pants and sprinted into the kitchen to throw them out the window into the open dumpster below.

He fidgeted for a moment in his Spongebob Squarepants boxers, then remembered the next step of his emergency contingency plan. He dashed into the bathroom and grabbed a bottle of Lysol from the under-sink cabinet. In desperation, Reid sprayed Lysol over his exposed legs, from mismatched socks to boxer shorts, until all of his skin was covered with a generous layer of bleach. He waited for the bleach to do its work on any residual semen that had penetrated the grooves of the corduroy pants. Given that Rossi had no children, Reid hung onto the hope that Rossi's sperm cells were low in motility. He did not enjoy the thought of high-motility sperm wiggling their way up his legs. When he was satisfied that the Lysol had killed all of the sperm cells, he sprayed himself down with Lysol again. Finally, after thirty minutes in the bathroom, Reid was confident that all the sperm cells had been obliterated. He peeked out the door to find Garcia smirking at his state of undress.

"You know, Reid, I'd never have expected you to react this way," Garcia mused. "I'd have expected such a testosterone-fueled homophobic display from Morgan le Fay."

"I'm sorry, Garcia," Reid apologized. "But you need to understand one thing. Men need to maintain certain boundaries between themselves, regardless of how much or how little testosterone they have. 'It' definitely crosses all the boundaries!"

"I see, I see," Garcia smiled understandingly. "Don't worry, Master, I have de-activated the malfunctioning robot. You may come out now. I have even cleaned 'It' away."

"Thank you, Garcia," Reid said wearily. "You are a true friend. But I'll just take a few more moments to disinfect myself again."

With that, Reid closed the door of the bathroom and locked himself inside. He sank onto the floor and emptied the remainder of the spray bottle over his legs. He promised himself that he would never fanboy the works of Sci-Fi Grand Master Asimov ever again. The old fool was dead wrong. Robots, no matter how well-intentioned or well-programmed, always turned against their masters.

* * *

Next up: Jennifer Jareau, Will LaMontagne, the Dungeon Master, and polyhedral dice.


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I do not own Criminal Minds.

* * *

Chapter 5

On Friday, David Rossi left a bouquent of rare flowers, complete with love letter, for Robot Samantha on the desk of his friend, colleague, and Sci-Fi Grand Master - Dr. Spencer Reid. On Saturday and Sunday, nothing bad happened to him.

"Dave needs help," Reid said to Garcia in his dark attic lair. "Every time I pass by his office, I see him reading an Asimov novel. On Monday, at lunch, I saw him taking notes while reading 'I, Robot'."

"Were the notes color-coded?" Garcia asked, bouncing two-year-old Henry on her lap.

"Of course," Reid replied. "I guess that's a good sign. Dave's still Dave, just a new and improved Dave more attuned to the positronic brain."

"Exactly," Garcia sniffed at the freaky flowers while Henry plucked away the petals. "Hey Henry, can do you something for me? Can you say hi to your Fairy Godfather?"

"Hi!" Henry clapped happily, "Hi!"

"Hi Henry," Reid masked his evil behind a fake smile.

"Hi!" the child recognized evil when he saw it, grabbing the evil man by the nose and squeezing until the evil man turned red in the face.

"Argh! Garcia! Make it stop! Make it stop!" Reid screamed helplessly.

"Henry, no!" Garcia summoned her best JJ voice, "Henry, bad!"

Henry squeezed harder, believing in his two-year-old brain that the soft round blonde woman had accused the icky angular man of being bad. He wouldn't let go until Reid offered him a triceratops figurine. Garcia snatched the figurine out of Henry's chubby fingers.

"Reid, no! Reid, bad! What are you thinking?" she glared at the Child-Luddite. "That toy has removable eyes. It's a choking hazard!"

"Oh, sorry," Reid rubbed his sore nose, "I don't know much about children," he sounded like he had a cold.

"It's OK, Reid," Garcia said. "I promise to like you as long as you know much about everything else. Now, Master, what about the next stage of the operation? I await your further geniosity."

"Oh right, the next stage! I had forgotten all about that, d20," Reid awakened from the distraction caused by the adorable child.

"Is that my operation codename for this stage, Master?" the accomplice asked.

"Yes, d20, that's your operation codename, d20," the Master replied. "For this stage, you may call me Dungeon Master. Our target is Jennifer Jareau. As you can see, her progeny, Henry LaMontagne, is in our care and will not participate in The Game. The Dungeon Master does not play with minimans. However, her mate, William LaMontagne, will participate in The Game. Let us hope that Jennifer Ogre and Prince William enjoy their romantic weekend together," the Dungeon Master handed his accomplice a large cardboard poster covered with simple directions written in peas.

"Icosahedral!" d20 screeched out her function.

* * *

On Saturday evening, Jennifer Jareau and William LaMontagne sat down to a romantic candle-lit dinner. They were both famished, having spent the day apple-picking, pumpkin-carving, and hay-riding at a nearby farm owned by a family friend. They both missed Henry, having left him in the care of his Fairy Godmother Penelope Garcia. Still, they were both thrilled with the break from the drudgery of parenthood. The night was young. Who knew what the rest of the evening had to offer?

JJ poured Will a glass of fresh-pressed apple cider from the farm. Will savored a sip before leaning over the table to kiss his beautiful wife. That was when their troubles began.

"Ewwwwwww!" came the sound of a squeaky child-like voice.

"Henry?" JJ thought she recognized her son's voice.

"Mommy! Daddy! Yuck!" the voice squealed.

"Henry!" JJ popped up from her chair. "Will, was that Henry's voice coming out of the ceiling?"

"No, Honey, I'm sure it wasn't," Will brushed off the voice that he had also heard, not wanting to spoil what the rest of the evening had to offer. "Henry's over at Garcia's, remember? How could his voice possibly come out of the ceiling? Sit down, Jen...Relax...Have some cider...Your parents' friends sure know how to make apple cider."

"Yeah, you're right," JJ rolled her eyes at her maternal anxieties. "That's a pretty silly idea. Why would Henry's voice be coming out of the ceiling? What was I thinking?" she leaned forward to kiss Will before sitting down.

"Ewwwwwww!" came the sound of a squeaky adult-like voice.

"Icosahedral!" came the sound of a slightly less squeaky, slightly more deranged voice.

"Jennifer Ogre!" said the squeakier voice, "How dare you kiss Prince William? According to the Rulebook, ogres do not possess enough Charisma to kiss princes!"

"Will, did you hear that?" JJ stared at the ceiling, "You heard the voices this time, right?" she widened her big blue eyes.

"I sure did," Will said, "And I don't like them one bit. Hey!" he yelled at the ceiling, "What the hell is going on up there?"

"Good evening, Prince William," said the squeakier voice. "I am the Dungeon Master, and I have come to save you from the vices of Jennifer Ogre."

"Jen?" Will turned to JJ, "Why is the voice in our ceiling calling you Jennifer Ogre? Why is it calling itself the Dungeon Master?"

"It's Reid," JJ made the connection. "Reid, what do you think you're doing? Get out of my house please!"

"Jennifer Ogre!" said the squeaky voice, "How dare you speak to anyone this way? You are but a lowly green-faced ogre intruding upon Prince William's charming human fiefdom."

"Why is Reid taunting us in our own home?" Will asked JJ in a state of massive confusion.

"I kind of made fun of him at work this one time," JJ replied.

"I thought you were constantly making fun of him at work," Will said.

"No, Will, we're professionals," JJ explained. "We don't constantly make fun of each other at work. It's just this one time when Reid had laryngitis, and we all ganged up on him, pretending that we were interested in talking to him about his favorite nerdy topics. He has a habit of spewing off random facts that no one wants to hear about."

"Jennifer Ogre, stop right there!" said the squeaky voice, "Do not speak ill of Magician Reid! That is against the Rulebook!"

"Who the hell are you?" Will asked the ceiling.

"d20 at your service," the squeaky voice replied. "I am a twenty-sided die frequently used in Dungeons and Dragons. I am icosahedral...Icosahedral am I!"

"Icosahedral? Let me guess, that means twenty-sided," Will said to d20.

"Prince William is so much smarter and better than Jennifer Ogre!" the Dungeon Master cut in before d20 could respond.

"Prince William is pretty smart," Will mused to himself, flattered by the praise of the Dungeon Master. "Jennifer Ogre is pretty lucky to have Prince William."

"Will!" JJ was shocked at the betrayal, "Stop encourgaging him! Reid! Get out of my house! This is an invasion of privacy!"

"Awwwwwww!" the Dungeon Master taunted, "Poor lowly green-faced Jennifer Ogre is angry! Well, let us make it up to you, Jennifer Ogre. We shall offer you a chance to improve yourself. In Dungeons and Dragons, your character is a vile despicable ogre who lives in a dirty poop-besmattered shack on the outskirts of Prince William's fiefdom. You may improve yourself by increasing your ability scores in Strength, Constitution, Dexterity, Intelligence, Wisdom, and Charisma."

"Icosahedral!" d20 replied. "Rolling...Rolling...Rolling...I roll a 13!"

"Jennifer Ogre, you must demonstrate your Strength by giving Prince William a piggyback ride around his fiefdom," said the Dungeon Master. "You must do it 13 times around the living room."

"Reid, when I see you again, I'm going to..." JJ pointed at the ceiling in a threatening manner but was cut off by her husband.

Will carried a mischievous glint in his eye. "Why don't you demonstrate your Strength, Jen?" Will smiled, "I have a feeling it's going to be...Sexxxxxxxay!"

"Will you get out of my house if I give him a piggyback ride?" JJ asked the ceiling.

"We shall see...We shall see," the Dungeon Master non-committed. "But I refuse to leave unless you give Prince William a piggyback ride."

"Will?" JJ turned to the smirking stranger before her.

She wondered what she had done wrong. She and Will had been together for more than three years. They had a child together. She thought she understood him. But, somehow, Reid had managed to turn him against her in a matter of minutes. JJ chalked it up to the brutish nature of man.

"Whee! Whee! Wheeeeeee!" Will climbed aboard the ogre train.

He was not at all concerned about his wife's strength or his own weight upon her. She was a former soccer player, and she had the legs to prove it. At every turn around the couch, Will flapped his arms in front of JJ's face. He nuzzled his nose against the hair-covered ear of the huffing puffing ogre. He was sorely disappointed when the piggyback ride ended, and the ogre dumped him unceremoniously onto the couch.

"Good work, Jennifer Ogre," said the Dungeon Master, "You have increased your Strength score by 13 points. That is quite an accomplishment. As a reward for your cooperation, I have decided to skip over the test of Constitution. Ogres have a naturally hearty Constitution. We shall move on to Dexterity."

"Oooooooh, Dexterity sounds even more sexxxxxxxay!" Will remarked.

JJ glanced in concern at her husband. She had never seen this side of him before. It brought all kinds of questions to her mind. What other sides of himself was he hiding behind that cute fluffy exterior?

"Icosahedral!" d20 screamed, "I roll a 6!"

"Jennifer Ogre, you must demonstrate your Dexterity by painting yourself green from head to toe," the Dungeon Master ordered. "All shades of green from 1 to 20 have been prepared for you in your master bathroom. Green 6 is the shade known as 'Wasabi Vomit Green'. It is located in the medicine cabinet."

"We took a peek at all the other bottles in there too," d20 declared.

"Reid! That is over the line!" JJ said angrily, "That is competely inappropriate!"

"Calm down, Honey," Will placated the angry ogre. "Let's go check out that body paint. I'll help you put it on. You're going to look great. It'll be so..."

"Don't say it!" JJ snarled at Will.

"Sexxxxxxxay," Will whispered to himself as he led his wife upstairs to their bedroom.

Twenty minutes later, a svelte green ogre emerged from its shell. Its blonde hair, blue eyes, and red lips matched up well with its green skin. Above and beyond expectations, it had also donned a leopard-patterned two-piece cavegirl dress of indeterminate origin. Under the guidance of Prince William, Jennifer Ogre had transformed herself into a presentable being.

"Hmmmmmmm," the Dungeon Master perverted through a webcam. "I much approve, Jennifer Ogre, I much approve. Can you hold still for a few minutes? I must sketch your for the next edition of the Rulebook. Let you be an example for all female ogres."

"Hear that, Baby?" Will caressed the ogre's green cheek. "You're going to be an example for all female ogres. But don't worry, Honey, I'm sure none of them will be as..."

He stopped at a glare from the ogre.

"Sexxxxxxxay," he whispered to himself again.

"Jennifer Ogre," said the Dungeon Master, "Your appearance is so stunning that I have lost the majority of my brain and can no longer preside over the tests of Intelligence and Wisdom. We shall proceed directly to the last test - the test of Charisma."

"Icosahedral!" d20 screeched, "I roll a 20!"

"Oooooooh, good for you, d20!" the Dungeon Master exclaimed. "You've always wanted to roll a 20!"

"Yippeeeeeee!" d20 squeaked out.

JJ wondered if the familial schizophrenia had finally set in for Reid. Otherwise, why would he be congratulating himself in two different voices and acting out two different personas? Then, she remembered that anything was possible in his quest to torture her.

"Jennifer Ogre, you must demonstrate your Charisma by performing an ogre dance for Prince William's amusement," the Dungeon Master ordered. "You must dance for 20 minutes."

"What exactly does an ogre dance have to do with Charisma?" JJ asked.

"An ogre cannot show Charisma through words," d20 explained. "Ogres are too stupid to speak coherently. Therefore, a sensual dance is the only way for an ogre to entice a prince."

"Oooooooh, Ooooooogre Baby, let me see you dance!" Prince William leered at Jennifer Ogre. "I'm waiting to be enticed!"

Jennifer Ogre considered carving up Prince William with a steak knife, but decided against it when she remembered that even ogres had hearts, and her heart belonged to the gallant prince. She settled upon the next best course of action. If he wanted her to dance, she would dance. He would be entranced by her dancing, and he wouldn't notice when she turned him into a lowly green-faced ogre, just like her. They would live, happily ever after, in a dirty poop-besmattered shack on the outskirts of his former fiefdom.

Jennifer Ogre whirled about in her cavegirl dress. One by one, she placed her green hands on her green hips in a coquettish manner. She swayed her hips from side to side while turning in circles, sending her shiny blonde hair flying up from her shoulders.

Prince William drooled like his son.

Jennifer Ogre licked her red cherry-flavored lipstick with relish. She raised her arms above her head and pranced about the living room in her bare feet. She puckered her luscious lips towards Prince William.

Prince William crawled across the floor like his son.

Jennifer Ogre lowered the straps of her cavegirl dress until the straps hung on her upper arm. They threatened to slip past her elbow. They threatened to bring the whole upper piece of her dress with them.

Prince William reached out his hairy paws to aid their progress. Jennifer Ogre glanced down at the groveling green-faced creature. Just as she had predicted, Prince William had turned into an ogre under her sensual enticement. He was not the only one who had done so.

"Oooooooh, Ooooooogre Baby..." Prince William and the Dungeon Master lusted in unison.

"Slap!" came the sound of a tiny palm striking a bastion of evil.

"Slap! Slap! Slap! Slap! Slap! Slap! Slap!"

"Argh! Garcia! Make it stop! Make it stop!" Reid screamed helplessly.

"Henry, no!" Garcia summoned her best JJ voice, "Henry, bad!"

"Slap! Slap! Slap! Slap! Slap! Slap! Slap!"

"Stop staying that, Garcia! He thinks you're calling me bad!"

"Slap! Slap! Slap! Slap! Slap! Slap! Slap!"

"Argh! Garcia! He's crawling after me!"

"Henry, Henry!" Garcia screamed. "Look, Henry, Mommy and Daddy!"

"Purrty!" Henry pointed at Mommy through the computer screen.

"Oh dear, no more Mommy and Daddy," Garcia turned off the monitor before Henry could acquire an Oedipus Complex.

JJ and Will ignored the proceedings in the dark attick lair. They were too busy acting out their new ogre personas. They were busy making the most of what the rest of the evening had to offer.

Somewhere in JJ's dim ogre consciousness, she made note of the squeaky screamfest. She made note of the name "Garcia". Reid and Garcia had seen her in her slutty cavegirl persona, the one that she sometimes adopted even without the orders of the Dungeon Master, and she was determined to seek her own revenge. JJ was not a profiler, but she had picked up a lot of psychological insight working with the BAU. Reid and Garcia composed a dominant-submissive pair. In dominant-submissive pairs, the submissive was often the route to the dominant.

* * *

Penelope Garcia saw her comeuppance reflected in four pairs of steely eyes. She looked small and weak in their irises. She wanted to crawl into a hole. She wished that her dominant partner were here to defend her against the cold frightening faces. Alas, he was busy at his desk in the bullpen, trying to extract a pencil that had gotten stuck in his tangled hair.

"How could you?" Morgan put on his hurt-angry expression, "How could you let Reid drown me in toilet water?"

"How could you?" Prentiss looked truly hurt, "How could you let Reid blast me with roadkill?"

"Samantha?" Rossi gazed in adoration, "Are you really Samantha?"

"You need to help us get back at Reid," JJ declared calmly. "Reid's next target is Hotch. We can't let him do anything bad to Hotch."

"Look, I think we should put an end to this revenge thing," Garcia suggested hopefully. "I don't want to instigate an endless cycle of revenge. Confucius once said..."

"I don't care what Confucius once said!" JJ snapped. "I want my revenge, and I want it now. Who's with me?"

"I am!" Morgan and Prentiss said in unison. They had overcome their love and fear of Dr. Spencer Reid. They now loathed the gawky mantis-like creature.

"Samantha?" Rossi gazed in adoration, "Are you really Samantha?"

"Um..." Garcia looked for a way out. Finding none, she rummaged in her purse until she found a crumpled-up business card. She handed the card to Morgan.

"Professor Jacqueline von Ripper," Morgan read from the card, "XoXo."

"She's a criminology professor at Streyer University," Garcia explained, "She's stalking Reid."

"Purrfect," JJ's eyes took on a glint of evil. The glint was a cross between Reid's glint of evil and Will's glint of mischief.

"Perhaps Professor Jacqueline von Ripper should pay the Good Doctor a visit in his apartment," Prentiss said.

"Samantha?" Rossi gazed in adoration, "Are you really Samantha?"

"I don't know," Garcia said. "I have a bad feeling about Professor Jacqueline von Ripper. Her name reminds me of someone else..."

"Jack the Ripper," Morgan completed the thought. "I think we have an operation codename for Reid."

"Mary Kelly," Prentiss announced.

* * *

Note: Mary Kelly is the final victim of Jack the Ripper.

Next up: the last chapter. Reid, Professor Jacqueline von Ripper, and Hotch in his grand Hotchliness.


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: I do not own Criminal Minds.

* * *

Chapter 6

"So," Morgan stretched his legs across Garcia's pristine coffee table, "How do you think Mary Kelly's doing with Professor Jacqueline von Ripper?"

"I bet she's giving him the time of his life," Prentiss dipped her spoon into a half-gallon carton of chocolate-green pea ice cream.

"I hope she makes him dance, like a little whore over hot coals," JJ giggled vindictively, relishing her position as The Wickedest in the absence of Mary Kelly.

"Samantha?" Rossi gazed in adoration at Garcia, "Are you really Samantha?"

Garcia shied away from the discombobulated old man. She shivered in her armchair by the fire. She was feeling unsettled, her doubt and fear evident all over her taut anxious face. She could not bring herself to partake of the mirth in her living room. Every few seconds, a wave of guilt washed over her. No sooner would she repel one wave than she would find herself drenched in another. There was the guilt of drowning Morgan with toilet water and blasting Prentiss with roadkill. There was the guilt of turning Rossi into a blubbering idiot and invading JJ's intimate home life. Most of all, there was the guilt of betraying her dominant partner. As evil as he had become and as deranged as she had become under his influence, the submissive accomplice still loved and feared her dominant master. She missed him, he of the many names and many identities. When he was around, she felt freer to indulge her true self, be it Penelope or Garcia or Jane or Beezlebub or R. Sammy or d20.

"Are we sure she's not dangerous?" Garcia looked to her colleagues for reassurance.

"She's a well-respected criminology professor," Prentiss replied. "Newly tenured, loads of publications, rising star in the field...How dangerous can she be?"

"Hey Baby Girl, don't you worry about it," Morgan comforted Garcia. "Mary Kelly brought this down on himself. Let's look at it this way. We might be doing him a favor here. He might end up liking Professor Jacqueline von Ripper. We already know that she likes him. This might be just the spark they need to get things going between them. If all goes well, Mary Kelly could be reeling in a Halloween Honey to cuddle up with, if you know what I mean..." he wiggled his eyebrows lasciviously.

Prentiss tried to shoot Morgan a frown of disgust, but couldn't resist laughing in the middle of it. JJ chortled through a mouthful of chocolate-covered bacon. Rossi gazed in adoration at Garcia.

"What kind of freak writes 'XoXo' on her business cards?" JJ asked, shaking her head at the unprofessionalism of Professor Jacqueline von Ripper. "She scribbled all kinds of personal information on it too. I'm not talking about her home phone number and home address. Look," she pointed with her little finger, "She even wrote down her measurements!"

"Really? Let me see!" Morgan snatched the card out of JJ's fingers. "36-24-36...Go Reid!" he genuinely cheered on his erstwhile friend and current retaliatory target, forgetting for the moment about the atrocities of Master Mersenne.

"Give it here!" Prentiss grabbed the card from Morgan's fingers. "Oh wow...Go Reid indeed..." she murmured dreamily, suddenly struck with numerous carnal visions about the Page.

"'XoXo'," Rossi read from the card, shocking his colleagues with an emergence from the robot-induced trance. "I swear I've seen this handwriting before. Where have I seen this handwriting before? I know where I've seen this handwriting before!" he lurched up from the couch. "It...It...It looks exactly the same as the handwriting on the taunting notes from the recent Beltway murders! It's got the same spiral patterns at the ends of the curly descenders on 'g', 'j', and 'y'!"

"The Beltway murders?" JJ screeched, a horrible realization dawning upon her just as it was dawning upon all her colleagues. "The murders of professional young men, in which the victims were tortured with surgical instruments before their blood and cerebrospinal fluid were drained and their hearts and brains were ripped out of their bodies?"

"Oh God...Oh God...Oh God!" Garcia screamed in panic. "We sent an UnSub after Reid! We sent an UnSub after Reid!"

"Shit!" Morgan and Prentiss yelled together. "It can't be! It is! We sent an UnSub after Reid!"

"Come on, what are we waiting for?" Prentiss cried, failing to compartmentalize a single intrusive emotion. "We have to go! We have to help Reid! Now!"

"C'mon, Baby Girl, you know where Reid's new apartment is," Morgan guided Garcia out the front door. "Calm down, Sweetie, you have to give us directions."

"OK...OK...Breathe, Garcia...Calm down, Garcia...Breathe," Garcia coached herself on the way to Morgan's SUV.

The other members of the BAU piled into the back as Morgan turned the key in the ignition and Garcia pointed out the way. Each was consumed with his or her own emotions, written across their faces like profiling terminology across the faces of UnSubs. Two emotions stood out - love and fear - love for their friend and fear for his fate. No matter how many volumes of toilet water Master Mersenne dumped on Derek Morgan, or how many masses of roadkill Master Dante dropped on Emily Prentiss, or how many gender-bending sexbots Sci-Fi Grand Master Asimov sent after David Rossi, or how many green-skinned sensual dances the Dungeon Master forced upon Jennifer Jareau, the evil vengeful young man was still their friend, colleague, and baby brother, and if Professor Jacqueline von Ripper wanted his heart and brain, then it was only her own heart and brain that she would lose this night.

* * *

"Good evening, Doctor," said Professor Jacqueline von Ripper, striking a titillating pose in front of the open doorway.

Reid whipped around, staring in shock at the frightening stalker who had finally tracked him down to his new apartment.

"Um...Hello," Reid backed away until he bumped into the couch.

"I want you to say my name like I'm saying yours, Dr. Reid," said the Professor, licking her dark red lips in a feline manner.

"Professor Jacqueline von Ripper?" Reid whimpered.

"Call me...Jaaaaaaack," the Professor drew out the name of her alter ego.

"Jack?" Reid whimpered again, inching himself towards the hallway that led out of the turreted living room.

"Maaaaaaary," the Professor drew out the name of her alter ego's final victim.

With a kick behind her, the breathtakingly beautiful woman shut the door and approached her trepidating victim. She was tall, at least 5'11" in her bare feet, and imposing in her sparkling black evening gown and sleek black trench coat. In her high heels, Professor Jacqueline von Ripper stood eye-to-eye with Reid. She was voluptuous as well, in that curvy shapely way that so many women would die for. She outweighed her gangly stickbug prey.

The Professor tossed her long wavy auburn hair away from her milky white arms. She fixed her mesmerizing gaze upon her victim. Her eyes were her most striking feature, standing out amongst her other perfectly sculpted facial features. The irises were of a color not usually associated with auburn hair. They were a rich dark color, red and brown and black all at the same time, in concentric rings that radiated from the pupils to the whites, which carried a unique bluish hue. Reid found them entrancing, until a new object emerged to capture his attention.

From her trench coat, Professor Jacqueline von Ripper pulled out a long-bladed hunting knife with deep serrations on one edge. In a few strides of her long legs, before Reid had time to grab his revolver from the coffee table, she bridged the gap between them and pressed the sharp metal blade against his jugular. Reid could feel his pulse against the deadly cold surface.

"Jack...Please...Let's talk about this," Reid stammered, searching this way and that with his eyes, not daring to move his head for fear of the knife. "I know I've been ignoring you, and I'm really sorry about that. You see, I've been pretty busy at work lately, and whenever I'm not at work, I've been busy with some...other...projects. I hope you'll forgive me for neglecting you. I'm all done with those other projects now. I have all the time in the world. I'm all yours."

"Oh, you bet you're all mine," Professor Jacqueline von Ripper grinned through her rows of blazing white teeth. "Before the night is over, every part of you is going to be all mine," she bore into Reid's terrified hazel eyes with her commanding multi-colored ones.

"Um...I've been a terrible host," Reid mumbled apologetically. "Can I get you something to drink?" he edged down the hallway towards the kitchen.

"Oh yes please, Doctor, I could use a stiff drink before we get down to business," the Professor hissed. "As a matter of fact, so could you..."

"Perfect!" Reid squeaked through a dry throat. "I just finished distilling my latest batch of liquor last night," he backed through the kitchen doorway. "I find that copper and iron impurities leached out of the distillation apparatus enhance the flavor of the drink. They add a hint of...blood..." he grabbed at an Erlenmeyer flask on the kitchen counter. "Here, why don't you try some of this?" he poured a colorless liquid into a wine glass, "Tell me what you think," he smiled nervously, his eyes seeking approval, his mind seeking escape.

Professor Jacqueline von Ripper lowered the knife to accept the wine glass. She gazed curiously at her prey from behind her heavily mascaraed eyelashes. She took a sip of the beverage and grimaced as the partially distilled moonshine burned her throat. The metallic flavor of blood intoxicated her, and she staggered against the counter, knocking over a crate of empty Capri Sun juice boxes into which the vile liquid would be poured for long-term storage.

"You don't like it?" Reid asked in mock disappointment. "Don't tell me you don't like it!" he assumed the evil persona that he had cultivated to fruition over the past month. "Here, have some more! I know you can't resist the taste of blood," he grabbed the woman around her throat, brought the wine glass to her lips, and forced a few drops of the liquid into her open mouth.

The Professor struggled, momentarily cowed by the change in demeanor of her intended victim. She wasn't used to victims who stood up for themselves, nor had she encountered victims who actively attacked her. In retaliation, she scratched at her victim's face with the long red fingernails of one hand while tightening the other hand around the knife. She pressed its tip against her victim's chest, where his heart beat visibly through the thin material of his button-down shirt.

"Don't tell me you don't like this!" Professor Jacqueline von Ripper poked a tiny hole in the shirt, threatening to nick the skin, and more, beneath.

"Oh, I like it alright," Reid unfurled his own toothy grin. "Don't you ever stop," he shifted his weight on his feet, turning his body until the blade lay parallel, rather than obliquely, with his chest.

Feeling a wanton sense of security in his new position, Reid did the one thing that he could think of to pull himself out of danger. He leaned forwards, breathing into the woman's captivating face, locking his lips around the woman's smirking mouth. The woman responded, unwilling or unable to resist her deep animal desires. She let him force his tongue into her mouth. She unrolled her own tongue, rolling it around in his mouth until she found herself squealing in pain. With his incisors, the evil man bit down upon the tongue of the evil woman until it bled profusely from every surface.

In a fit of disgust, Reid pushed the screaming woman away from him, into the nook between the refrigerator and the wall. While she sputtered fresh red blood from her mouth, he jumped out the kitchen window into the open dumpster below. It was a drop of only two stories, so he immediately popped up from his fall, unharmed and covered with rotting produce. Without checking the status of the UnSub, Reid climbed up and over the side of the dumpster. He ran for his life. He ran, dashing across streets and lawns and empty lots, until he arrived at an unfamiliar intersection, seemingly miles from his cozy apartment. He hailed a passing cab, relieved to encounter one at this time and place. He glanced furtively at the cab driver, indulging in a moment of paranoia before convincing himself that not everyone was out to get him. He gave the first address that came, by instinct, to mind. For Reid, it was a time of need, and he sought comfort and security where he had always imagined that he would seek them. He wanted his mommy.

* * *

"Fifty bucks," Hotch paid the cab driver as Reid shivered in the freezing night air.

It was the first truly cold night of the waning fall, and Reid was inadequately clothed in a torn shirt and days-old banana peels. He spit on the ground every few seconds, trying to clear the taste of blood from his tongue. It was no use. It did nothing to alleviate the whorish feeling that had creeped over him, minute by minute, since his unwanted intimate encounter with Professor Jacqueline von Ripper. He hadn't wanted to kiss the terrifying murderous amazon, but he hadn't come up with any other way out of the situation. The experience was yet another black eye that he would have to absorb and heal over time.

"Come on, Reid," Hotch guided the traumatized young man into his house. "Let's get you some clean clothes. Let's get you out of the cold."

Reid nodded, following his boss upstairs to the master bedroom, where Hotch brought out a pile of his own clothes for Reid to pick and choose from. Reid changed into a hooded sweatshirt and a pair of worn jeans. Hotch pretended to avert his eyes, but gave himself away when he snorted at Reid's Spongebob Squarepants boxers. He handed Reid a thick belt to hold up the oversized jeans. Reid washed his face in the bathroom, brushing his teeth and rinsing his mouth with Listerine, before joining Hotch downstairs at the kitchen table.

The two sojourned over steaming cups of hot chocolate.

"I can't believe it," Reid spoke hesitantly. "I can't believe what came over me this past month. I can't believe I did all those things to my friends and colleagues. You wouldn't believe it if I told you," he cast his sad puppy dog eyes downwards in remorse.

"I already know," Hotch replied. "It's my job to know," he smiled warmly, somewhat amused by the whole situation.

"I want to explain," Reid insisted anxiously, seeking absolution from the one friend that he had not yet alienated, "Let me explain. At first, I just wanted to get everyone back for making fun of me. I was fed up with people constantly making fun of me for just being myself. I was tired of people talking about me behind my back. I've had to deal with it my whole life, and I was sick of it. The more I thought about it, the more I wanted revenge, not just a simple prank, but an elaborate scheme to really disrupt their lives for a weekend. I couldn't help myself...I lost control of my own impulses. There were moments when I felt guilty about the whole thing, but then I remembered how ashamed and angry I felt when the other kids bullied me in high school. I decided that I was going to stand up for myself, just this once," he swirled the tiny marshmallows in his cup. "I was like an UnSub, digging up my own damage and taking out my own rage on people who didn't deserve it. I know that they...you...were only having a little fun with me..."

"And we were wrong to do it," Hotch interrupted. "It's one thing for one of us to snicker a little during one of your...special moments, but it's quite another for us to gang up on you like we did. It was unprofessional among colleagues and flat out wrong among friends. I'm sorry for my part, Reid, and I'm sure that everyone else would apologize too."

"No, Hotch, I'm the one who should apologize!" Reid argued. "My revenge was totally out of proportion with the initial stressor, don't you think?"

"Not at all!" Hotch laughed. "I found your schemes really clever! I heard Morgan and Emily whispering about them in the stairwell one day. They were discussing something called the 'Omniscient Plumber 3000' and something else called the 'Inferno'. I eavesdropped from the flight of stairs above them and recorded their whole paranoid conversation on my cell phone. Later, in my office, I was able to piece together the details of the schemes."

"You don't think that my revenge was too much?" Reid asked in surprise.

"Well, it was elaborate, what with taking over their bathroom and kitchen appliances," Hotch replied. "But I don't think it was too much. The schemes were disgusting and perverted, but when it comes down to it, they were totally harmless. There was no lasting damage from them. In fact, I'm glad to see this side of you, Reid. I wasn't sure if it even existed. We all have another side that's capable of things that wouldn't normally cross our minds. This might sound silly, but I guess we all have a dark side. I know I do," he swirled his own marshmallows.

"I know you do," Reid spoke the truth, even if it cost him something to say it, "And I know that you're afraid of it. Like me, you're afraid of your own mind. Look at the UnSubs we deal with on a daily basis. What separates us from them? Why is it that we can control our damage and our rage, but they can't? And at what point do we also lose control of ourselves? How far can we be pushed? What are we capable of?"

Hotch nodded in silence, agreeing but not contributing, so Reid continued.

"Maybe it's not my place to say this, but since I'm invading your house and wearing your clothes tonight, I might as well make myself completely at home," he smiled his tiny nervous smile. "I know we haven't really talked, not about anything but cases, since what happened with...Haley..." he checked Hotch's face for the signal to stop. "What happened over that whole Foyet case...That's not you, Hotch. You've been silent all these months, tearing yourself apart over Haley's death, questioning yourself about your own capabilities, even doubting your own basic goodness. I'm not going to talk you out of your guilt, because you're the only one who can deal with that. In the end, everyone else can forgive you, but you won't be able to find a moment of peace until you've forgiven yourself. Forgiveness comes from two directions, as you already know. I'm only going to remind you that you're still you, Hotch. You're still Jack's dad, and you're still our unit chief, and you're still the one that we kids look up to, even old geezer kids like David Rossi. The side of you that's you, your true self that will always be you, outweighs any other side you might have. I know that, because I've had to deal with the same problem. I think it made me a better person, a better profiler, better at realizing my potential, all without taking away my true self. I did it alone, and I can see that you would also prefer to do it alone, so I'll pick this second to shut up once and for all."

"Don't shut up, Reid," Hotch looked Reid in the eye, "Don't you ever shut up. We still need your blabbing for cases. But I wouldn't ever verbalize 'old geezer kids like David Rossi' in front of certain people. I don't know what Dave might do to you if he heard that. I mean, what he might to do you if he recovers from the trauma of Robot Samantha."

Reid laughed, paused in mid-laugh, searched his boss's eyes, found what he was looking for, and resumed his laugh. Hotch, true to his true self, was never going to respond directly to Reid's truth-telling, but Reid could see that Hotch had accepted it, would consider it, would find the truth stamped all over its truthy surface. That was enough, for now and for always.

"Daddy?" a small face peeked around the kitchen doorway, "Who are you talking to? Is that Spenny?"

"Yeah, Jack, c'mere," Hotch patted his lap for Jack to climb into. "Sorry, Reid, that's your operation codename in the Hotchner Household. It all started when Jack called Garcia 'Penny'. 'Penny' for Garcia turned into 'Spenny' for you. I couldn't do anything to prevent it. Events spiraled out of my control. 'Penny and Spenny'...It's quite a tongue twister if you say it really fast."

"Penny and Spenny, Penny and Spenny, Penny and Spenny, Penny and Spenny, Penny and Spenny, Penny and Spenny, Penny and Spenny," Reid found himself agreeing with Hotch's truth-telling.

He accepted the charming nickname and leaned forwards to greet Jack.

"Hi Jack," Reid said.

Sensing a lingering whiff of evil from the reformed man with the now-repressed dark side, Jack grabbed the man by the nose and squeezed until the man turned red in the face.

"Argh! Hotch! Make it stop! Make it stop!" Reid screamed helplessly.

"Jack, no!" Hotch summoned his disciplinarian voice, "Jack, bad!"

In Jack's five-year-old brain, the orders registered correctly. He stopped and patted the man on his sore nose.

"Sorry, Spenny," Jack said, handing Spenny a plushy triceratops as a peace offering.

"Be careful with that, Reid," Hotch warned sternly. "That toy has removable eyes. Take care that you don't choke on them."

Reid glared at Hotch through mock-angry puppy dog eyes. He snuffled at the toy, wondering if it was an unwritten law of the universe that all triceratops toys had removable choking-hazard eyes. The ringing of a cell phone broke his reverie.

"Hotchner," Hotch answered.

A cacophony of loud multi-vocalized screaming made its way through the cell phone.

"You apprehended an UnSub?" Hotch spoke into the phone. "OK...Uh huh...At Reid's apartment...Professor Jacqueline von Ripper...The Beltway murders...Spiral patterns and curly descenders...Alright, got it. Blood on the floor...Not human blood...What kind of blood...Oh, you don't know...Cherry jello in the bathtub...You thought it was coagulated blood...Until Dave ate some...Oh sorry, it was Morgan who ate some...He couldn't resist...It was like the jello was calling to him...OK then. Apartment trashed...Windows broken...Dark attic lair dismantled. Garcia punched the UnSub...Emily did kungfu...JJ tried to set the woman on fire...Morgan did nothing...Oh sorry, Morgan, you kicked down the door...Dave's getting better by the minute...He's only mentioned Samantha twice in the past five minutes...Oh, he thought the cat fight was sexxxxxxxay...I feel dirty just saying that. Do you need me to come in...What do you mean what kind of question is that? Oh right...You can't find Reid...The UnSub doesn't know where he is...You think she's lying? Do you want to talk to Reid? He's right here with me, at my house."

A cacophony of loud multi-vocalized sighing made its way through the cell phone. Hotch handed the cell phone to Reid.

"Hello?" Reid squeaked timidly.

"Hey Reid," said Morgan, "Sooooooo happy to hear your voice! Are you OK? Did she hurt you? Did she use her spinal tap needles on you? Oh my God, don't tell me she used the retractors on you!"

"Spinal tap needles?" Reid squeaked in utter horror, "Retractors?"

"Listen, man," Morgan continued, "We're all really sorry about sending Professor Jacqueline von Ripper after you. We're all so very very sorry. We didn't know that she was an UnSub...We really didn't! There's no way that we would've sent her after you if we had known!"

"Yeah, Master," Garcia cried in a neverending tsunami of guilt, "I'm so sorry!" she blubbered uncontrollably.

"Garcia, Garcia!" Reid tried to calm the nearly-hysterical woman. "Three things, Garcia! First, you don't have to call me 'Master' anymore. Second, I'm sorry for brain-washing you, and making you love and fear me, and making you complicit in all these horrible pranks. Third, I forgive you for sending Professor Jacqueline von Ripper after me. Oh wait, four things! Fourth, please tell me that you won't beat yourself up over this...Although I won't complain if you feel the need to bring me cookies every once in awhile."

"Oh thank you, Master...I mean, Reid!" Garcia replied happily. "I promise that I won't beat myself up over this, but I still have to apologize for betraying you in the end. I was afraid that they'd send David Rossi after me at my apartment. He still thinks that I'm Robot Samantha. He's mostly recovered. He's able to say other things now. He was the one who figured out that Professor Jacqueline von Ripper was the Beltway UnSub. But he still hasn't stopped gazing at me like he's obsessed with me. He just does it less often. It's still super creepy. Oh!" she remembered something, "And I'm also sorry for progamming R. Sammy to chase you around your apartment with Rossi's semen sample!"

"What!" several voices demanded in disbelief.

"It's a long story," Garcia said loudly to drown out the cacophony of shock, "I'll tell you guys later. Hey Reid, are you staying at Hotch's house tonight? If not, you can always stay at my apartment."

"He's staying with me tonight," Hotch leaned into the phone.

"OK, great!" Garcia chirped like her usual cheerful self.

"Can I talk to Morgan again?" Reid asked.

"Yes, Master Mersenne?" Morgan answered.

"Um...I'm sorry about the Omniscient Plumber 3000, Morgan," Reid apologized.

"Apology accepted, Pretty Boy," Morgan handed the phone to Prentiss, knowing what Reid had in mind.

"Yeah, Master Dante?" Prentiss answered.

"Emily...Um...I'm sorry about the Inferno," Reid apologized.

"Apology accepted, my Page," Prentiss handed the phone to Rossi.

"Samantha?" Rossi answered.

"Dave...Um...I'm sorry about R. Sammy," Reid apologized.

"Apology accepted, Sci-Fi Grand Master Asimov," Rossi said. "Reid, can I ask you for a favor? Can you bring R. Sammy around sometime? To my house? We can have dinner together, the three of us - you, me, and R. Sammy. After dinner, we can all..."

"Hey Spence!" JJ ripped the cell phone out of Rossi's fingers before he could slide down the slippery slope back to Samantha.

"JJ...Um...I'm sorry about The Game," Reid apologized, "And sorry to Will too, for dragging him into it."

"Apology accepted, Dungeon Master," JJ said. "Not for William LaMontagne though. He told me to thank you for the most romantic weekend that we've ever had together. Personally, I'm going to pretend that the whole thing never happened. I don't want to encourage him. You should see the huge ego that he's developed as Prince William in his charming human fiefdom. Little does he know that he's just another lowly green-faced ogre like me."

"Oh, and Reid?" JJ continued shyly. "Sorry, from all of us, for making fun of you that day."

"Yeah, Geek Boy," Morgan snatched the phone out of JJ's fingers. "We can't promise that we'll never make fun of you again, but we promise to do it individually next time. We'll all wait our turns. Sharing is caring."

"Just remember one thing, Morgan," Reid warned his friend. "Don't dish it if you can't take it. I learned that from a wise old accomplice of mine."

"Did you just call me old?" Garcia demanded angrily.

"No, no, no!" Reid backtracked desperately. "I learned that from a beautiful supergoddess of mine."

"Much better, Young Padawan," Garcia purred. "I'm hungry," the goddess declared, "IHOP, anyone?"

"Yeah!" several voices clamored for the Rooty Tooty Fresh 'N Fruity.

"Reid, Hotch, IHOP?" Prentiss asked.

"No, none for me, thanks," Reid replied. "I've got work to do here. You should see Hotch's pathetic Halloween decorations. All he's got are a few cobwebbed bushes and a skeleton hanging from a tree. The skeleton isn't even glow-in-the-dark. I'm going to have to stay up all night just to get the house into shape."

"Stay up!" Jack clapped happily. "Spenny and Jack, up all night for Halloweeeeeeen decorations!"

"Gotta go, guys," Hotch said. "Reid is starting to brainwash my son. We'll deal with the Ripper case on Monday."

"Yeah, see you on Monday," several voices said, "Don't let Reid get too close to your son, Hotch. Reid's a Child Luddite..." Garcia added.

With that, Hotch hung up the phone and downed the cold remnants of his hot chocolate.

"Who's up for Halloween decorations?" the mommy asked the children.

"We are!" Jack and Spenny squealed in unison.

"To the garage!" Hotch led the way out the back door.

Hours later, just before the Sun rose upon All Hallow's Eve, the astronauts at the International Space Station glanced out a porthole and spied the blazing brilliance of the Hotchner Homestead many miles below. Every surface of the unassuming two-story house had been covered with blinking orange lights, cobwebs, jack-o-lanterns, spiders, crows, scarecrows, skulls, skeletons (glow-in-the-dark and regular), black cats, ogre masks (green-faced and regular), and disembodied limbs crawling through upstairs windows. The front lawn was a graveyard of fifty headstones, and at least twenty ghosts in white sheets hung out of the big oak tree near the sidewalk. An inflatable life-sized witch figure greeted trick-or-treaters on the brick path to the front door. Speakers completed the effect, booming with ominous thunder or screeching with howling laughter or cawing with distressed raven cries. The astronauts shrank, shaking, into their zero-gravity sleeping bags and sipped at their zero-gravity Pepto-Bismol bottles. The decorators argued over who got to be Galileo Galilei and who had to be Tycho Brahe for Halloween.

"Wasn't Tycho Brahe the one who cut his own ear off?" Hotch asked Reid.

"No!" Reid rolled his eyes at his boss's ignorance, "That was Vincent Van Gogh, the artist. I'm talking about Tycho Brahe, the astronomer, the one who lost part of his nose in a swashbuckling duel."

"I see," Hotch considered solemnly, "I don't want to be him," he decided.

"You have to be him, because I'm Galileo," Reid insisted.

"Can't I be a different astronomer?" Hotch tried to worm his way out of his inevitable fate. "What about Copernicus?" he suggested hopefully.

"No!" Reid rejected the foolish idea. "Galileo and Tycho Brahe are my two favorite astronomers. I will accept nothing less than us playing Galileo and Tycho Brahe for Halloween."

"Well..." Hotch found no viable escape route, "What do I have wear as Tycho Brahe?"

"A ruff," Reid affixed a 10-inch-wide corrugated ruff around Hotch's unwilling neck. "A bushy blonde beard with bushy blonde mustache," he attached the hair to Hotch's unwilling face. "A giant necklace," he adjusted a fake gold chain with a geo-centric model of the universe over Hotch's unwilling shoulders. "I believe this is also known as 'bling'," he labeled the atrocity. "And finally...A prosthetic nose made of possibly gold or possibly silver or possibly copper," he taped a thick appendage of foil to Hotch's unwilling nose. "Since we don't know which metal served as the material of Tycho's nose, we're going to pretend that he used all three," he colored part of the nose gold, part of the nose copper, and left the remaining part alone to create the illusion of silver. "Maybe he had three prosthetic noses, each of a different metal," he stepped back to admire his decorations, without even noticing Hotch's Patented Death Glare.

"Here, take a look," Reid held up an ornate mirror, one that Tycho Brahe would have been proud to own.

"Yeah, Daddy, take a look!" Jack encouraged while jumping up and down over the bed.

Hotch took a look. He grunted, signaling that all was well with the ridiculous costume. He turned towards Reid with fatalistic defeat in his eyes. He supposed that he was finally meeting his comeuppance, for unprofessionally making fun of Reid that one time at work.

Reid strutted down the hallway in his glorious Galileo costume. He wore a long gray beard with long gray mustache over his face and a cape of stars and moons over his back. He brandished a tiny old-fashioned spyglass against his left eye. Hotch stared at Reid with jealousy in his glare. He could not help noticing the lack of both bling and prosthetic rhinoplasteries.

"And yet it moves...And yet it moves...And yet it moves..." Reid muttered under his breath, imitating Galileo's legendary defiance of the Inquisition. He ignored the fact that in the end, under duress, Galileo had recanted his heliocentric theories. "And yet it moves...And yet it moves...And yet it moves..." Galileo muttered.

"Me, me, me!" Jack said, "Can I put on my costume now, Spenny?"

"Sure!" Spenny helped Jack into his costume.

For Halloween this year, Jack played an astronomical object to be observed and theorized over by the two sagacious astronomers. He was a comet. He wore a huge glow-in-the-dark halo over his back, with a long LED-covered tail flashing behind him. Each time he pressed a button, the comet tail produced space noises - whoosh, zing, and zoom, with buzzing static sprinkled in for realism.

"What's my name?" Jack asked as Hotch picked him up and spun him about the room, sending the comet tail flying into the air.

"Galileo?" Hotch looked to Reid for an answer.

Reid considered the ponderous question. He thought about his favorite comets, the ones that he had grown up observing through his huge Celestron telescope.

"Hmmmmmmm...Comet Shoemaker-Levy...Comet Hale-Bopp...Comet Hyakutake..." all the names sounded too nerdy, even to Reid. "Halley's..." he stopped abruptly, realizing that he had mispronounced the name with a flat "a", as he always did.

"Mommy?" Jack brightened at the name.

"Haley's Comet it is," Hotch nuzzled his son with his freakazoid nose. "Haley's Comet you are and always will be..." he trailed off as he headed towards the kitchen for breakfast. "Reid, blueberry pancakes and scrambled eggs OK with you?" he asked casually behind him.

"Yummy," Reid mumbled childishly.

He followed Hotch and Jack down the stairs to the kitchen. Hotch made breakfast while Reid and Jack competed to see who could bug their eyes farther out of their heads and who could puff their cheeks farther out of their faces. They held a snorting competition. On all counts, Jack was declared the clear winner.

Over breakfast, an important decison was reached. It was decided that Tycho Brahe was too ashamed of his horrible costume to leave the house in the evening, which meant that Galileo would have to take Haley's Comet trick-or-treating. Tycho Brahe would stay home and man the house to distribute bales of candy to the brave and the few who were not frightened away by the excessive Halloween decorations. When Galileo returned with Haley's Comet, the astronomers and astronomical object would head up to the roof deck of the Hotchner Homestead, where Galileo would pass down his craft to all willing listeners. And thus would Galileo assimilate Haley's Comet into his Cult of Dorkology, and thus would Haley's Comet grow up to realize his sky high potential.

When he finally shed his swashbuckling astronomer persona, a man would stare up from his warm down sleeping bag into the cold glittering heavens. He would listen to the children as they huddled together for warmth, whispering softly about celestial spheres and constellations and Polaris the North Star. There was no telescope to aid them, not even a tiny old-fashioned spyglass, for it was an unwritten law of the universe that a budding padawan astronomer must always begin with the naked eye beneath the naked sky.

Even without a telescope, the man would see, clearly for the first time in many months, far into the past and far into the future. He would see a time when he would sit his son on his lap and tell his son about the mother and the father - how they met, how they laughed, how they loved. The son would see the side of the father that the mother had longed for him for see, and the father would not hesitate to reveal it. It was his true self, the one that believed in love and love alone, and all it had taken was a wise old master in the guise of a brilliant young man to guide him back to it.

Such events comprised the future, near as the rising of the Sun upon a miraculous new day. For now, the man lay in silence. Thoughts came to his mind, but he did not pursue them. Like Halley's Comet, they flew away into the heavens, leaving behind only a lingering feeling of peace.

Such feelings were hard to come by on this pale blue dot in the void. They were to be savored, as the man would savor them, without ever speaking them out loud.

* * *

Thanks to all readers and reviewers! This story was supposed to be a fluffy little thing, but it spiraled out of my control. It was very fun to write, and your reviews were very encouraging. :)


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